


John, monsters aren't real

by Nadarhem



Category: Sherlock (TV), Superlock - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cat and Mouse, Crossover, Gen, Murder Mystery, Mystery, No Slash, No Spoilers, Supernatural Elements, no ships, superlock, veteran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 71,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4574499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadarhem/pseuds/Nadarhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean go to London to search for a missing hunter and Sherlock and John are investigating a violent murder. Things really start to go wrong when the two cases seem to be connected. Sherlock won't rest before he knows who the two Americans really are. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean have little time left to stop another killing. :: NO SLASH::</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why are we in London again?

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This story will have no spoilers for Supernatural, and no spoilers for Sherlock. Pinky promise. So it really doesn't matter which season it's in, but in my mind it is in season 5ish for Supernatural and Pre Sherlocks great fall, but this is just a job for our favourite Whinchesters, so no apocalyps here! .
> 
> Disclaimer: I neither own Supernatural and Sherlock, but hey, if you want to sell them Email me.
> 
> I have a Beta reader but English it not my first language, and I am dyslectic, so it could be very possible you encounter some spelling errors!
> 
> Beta Reader: FluffyToaster
> 
> And now, here we go!
> 
> -o-o-o-= Skip between places
> 
> -~o0o~- = skip between characters who are in different places.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Gore
> 
> Note 2: This story is also posted on Fanfiction.net by me, but I noticed that some prefer AO3 for reading and finding fanfics, so I decided to start posting here too!

'So, why are we in London again?'

Sam sighed again.

'Dean, it's the least we can do for Bobby, especially after he helped us with that vampire nest a few months ago.'

Dean slumped his shoulders. Ofcourse he didn't mind helping Bobby, but why London? His last thought he said outloud.

'And I mean, it's not that I don't like Downtown Abby or something, But why couldn't he just send us somewhere nice and sunny? Maybe to a haunted beach house in California? Why did we end up being the ones who he send to London?'

This time Sam stopped walking and halted Dean in the process. After a quick look around he saw that nobody on the busy street was close enough to hear his hushed voice.

'Look, Bobby lost contact with another hunter he knew here. He said that the guy went to London to do some research and that is the last thing he heard from him. So he wants us to look if we can find some information on him.

Dean pulled a face.

'Fine, but what are the other British hunters doing, eh? Hunting Leprechauns?'

Sam slightly cocked his head and then shook it.

'You're actually impossible.'

He turned away and started walking. It looked like it would rain soon (When didn't it in London?) and they were making their way back to the motel after grabbing a quick lunch. Ever since they had come off the plane (he had slept the 8 hours, Dean, however, hadn't) Dean hadn't stopped complaining. First it was the weather, next it was the food, after that it was the scenery and now he seemed to be all out of subjects to complain about, he must have come to the conclusion that he actually didn't need a subject to moan about, but that he just could whine about everything that would come up.

Dean had to quicken his pace to not fall behind his brother.

'Okay fine! But how are you planning on finding someone in London? I mean, this city is overflowing with people! It's like looking for a needle in a pile of fish-eating stifflips!'

Sam glanced at his brother, Dean had a point. London was one of the biggest cities in Europe. To find a person here without a clue where to find him would be tricky, to find a hunter who was probably hiding would be impossible. But they did have a clue.

'Bobby said that we should look for a guy named Kevin Thompson, we can recognise him by a snake tattoo on his neck.'

Dean chuckled.

'Classy.'

'Yeah, Bobby also said that Kevin would be checking the London archives. That's the last he heard from him. And that was almost a month ago.'

'And tell me again why-'

Sam interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.

'Dean, stop, please.'

This time it was Deans who sighed.

'Fine.'

They walked in silence for a while when Sam said.

'Dean?'

'Yeah?'

'Leprechauns are Irish, not British.'

-~o0o~-

Sherlock was bored.

John was out getting groceries. He had hid his gun, and hadn't hidden it in the normal hiding spots so if he wanted to find it he had to turn the apartment upside down, and Sherlock wasn't sure if John would appreciate that. The fingernails that were lying in acid for his research 'effect of acid on different parts of the body' still had to lay for at least two hours before he could look at the results. John had broken his violin's bow when he had accidentally sat on it, blaming him for not putting it away properly. Obviously it hadn't been his fault. As John clearly could have seen the place where his violin normally stood had been occupied by a skeleton on a stand. How he had aquired said skeleton is a different story. But as the standerd spot wasn't an option the next best thing was of course John's chair. There wasn't anything on it and the cushions would protect his violin and bow from any humidity on the floor and Sherlock would be sure that he wouldn't accidentally step on it. Ofcourse he would never step on something that laid on the floor, but in his head it was very likely that a murderer would come crashing into his apartment and step on his violin, and that of course would be tragic. However he hadn't thought that John wouldn't look before sitting down. And thus had John broken his bow and now Sherlock was left with nothing to do.

He hoped that someone would get murdered already.

John was heading back to his apartment. The shopping had been uneventful, luckily. He hadn't seen any shady types around (now he was with Sherlock shady types seemed to spontaneously sprout from the ground) and nobody had tried to rob the grocery store while he was there, so that was nice. John didn't know what it was but since he met Sherlock he just seemed to attract danger. Wait, he knew what it was. Sherlock was the reason. Not that he minded though. He had made the decision to stay with Sherlock long ago.

John had arrived home, he set down the plastic grocerie bags and started searching for his keys. after a few seconds he found them in his left pocket and picking the bags up again he started twisting the doorknob when suddenly it slammed open and Sherlock came running through, still putting on his trenchcoat.

'John! Glad you're here, are you coming?'

'Wha-'

'No time to talk, finally somebody has been murdered! Now are you coming or what?'

'Sherlock, I have groceries, before we can go they have to be pu-'

Before John could finish his sentence Sherlock had grabbed the light plastic bags and tossed them carelessly into the hallway, closed the door and twisted the key.

'Are you coming?'

John let out a sigh.

'Fine, where are we going?'

20 minutes later a taxi halted next to an abandoned industrial site. The police were already swarming the place and had started putting up the yellow police tape around the crime scene and setting up large lamps to light up the area. John noticed Lestrade and Donovan standing in the middle of all the hecticness. Without wavering Sherlock marched to the two and John followed closely behind. One police officer stepped forward to stop them but Sherlock spoke first.

'Do we have to this little dance everytime?' he said.

'Sir, it's most important tha-'

'I identify myself?' Sherlock answered to the officer.'Yes, ofcourse, oh, and when you are going to get your eyes checked I advise that you too let the doctors look at your back. It seems to be bothering you and it wouldn't be wise to let it distract you, right? I mean, you have more pressing matters to worry about. Tell me, are you sleeping with your wife or girlfriend tonight?'

The man's cheecks turned red and while he avoided Sherlocks blank stare he started to mutter.

'I, uh, I ehh, I'm not sure wha-'

Sherlock, apparently done with his little act ignored the stuttering and strode past the man, without giving him a second look.

John shot the still baffled officer an apologetic look and started after his friend.

Sherlock was already looking at the mangled mess on the ground. The stench was overwhelming.

Lestrade was covering his nose and talking to Sherlock.

'...found him like this, I asked the owner why the body hadn't been discoverd sooner but he said that he had nobody checking the grounds, and he himself had been on a business trip. And seeing how the fella looks I thought this was something you wanted to take a look at.'

Sherlock put on some sterile gloves and crouched down. He shot John a look and said.

'Give me five minutes.'

'Five? That's two more minutes than normal. Is your freak sense not working tonight?

Sherlock ignored Donovan, to busy examining the body. She eyed him suspiciously but decided to not pester him any further, and that had probably been a very wise decision. Judging from Sherlock's earlier outburst he didn't want anything messing with him or his precious murder case.

Knowing that he couldn't delay it any longer John looked down to the body, and immediately regretted it.

Living with Sherlock and working with him, John had seen many mangled corpses. But none of them had been as mauled as this one. His stomach was torn open and a few unidentified organs had spilled saw wide gashes on his limbs. The bodies neck was mostly gone and so was a big part of his shoulder. John could barely make out the snake tattoo on his neck. Four deep cuts marked the victims face and had destroyed the left part, eye, nose, and ear, exposing his skull.

And if that hadn't been enough the corpse also was in the late decomposition stage.

John averted his eyes, not wanting to look anymore. He had seen much in his life, but this was very close to crossing his borders.

He realised now why Sherlock had needed those two more minutes. To make sense of this mess was not an easy job, not even for Sherlock.

The man he was just thinking about stood up and took off his now bloodied gloves. He turned away and and motioned to John and Lestrade to follow. Donovan, although not invited, followed cautiously. While Sherlock walked he quickly searched something on his phone, but John couldn't make out what it was.

Getting to the edge of the crime scene Sherlock took a deep breath, and John realised why Sherlock had walked away, he just wanted some fresh air.

'So, what about him? What do you know?' Lestrade asked.

Sherlock cocked his head slightly and squinted his eyes for a second, finishing up his conclusion before releasing a wave of information.

'The body belongs to Kevin Thompson, or atleast, if that is his real name. He died five days ago and he is an American man, between 40 and 42. In his wallet there were a couple of fake id's and more, the ID's we're proffecially done, thus this wasn't the first time he walked around with fake ID's, he wasn't in Britain just for a visit, he was in some crime organistion or he was fleeing something, maybe the thing that wanted him dead. He doesn't have any known gang tattoo's but has a pentagram and religous related tattoo's on his body, although I am not able to identify all of them, but give me some time and I will. He also has a snake tattoo on his neck so that would probably be the biggest lead you have on his true identity. He believed in something, probably the Christian god, but he wasn't a believer as we know it. He doesn't carry the Christian cross but he does carry other lesser known Christian symbols on his body, like the tattoo's He smoked much and drank too, although he wasn't an alcoholic. He probably wanted to distract himself from something but didn't dare to go all the way. He carries a selected set of weapons, one gun and a few knifes. He knows how to use them and was expecting to use them the night he died. He died fighting, not with his favourite weapon, that was the knife strapped to his chest. Whatever attacked him did it infront of him, still it suprised him. He died because of, well, missing his throat. After his death the attacker mauled his body until it got bored and left.'

There was a silence, only the hushed voices of the other police men could be heared along with the distant sounds of the city and sirens of nearing police cars. Then Lestrade started to speak.

'That's all you know? Do you maybe know the murder weapon too?'

Sherlock laughed a humorless smile.

'Well, probably something sharp.'

Lestrade slowly nodded.

'Have you any idea who might have want to do this?'

'I have some theories, but those are not worth sharing for they aren't anymore than theories.'

Lestrade nodded again. Sensing that the consultant detective wasn't saying anything, but he also knew that trying to argue with Sherlock wasn't going to work out. He had enough experience.

'Well, when you think your theories are worth sharing give us a call.'

After recieving a small nod from Sherlock he turned and walked back to the corpse, where now some forensics where trying to fit it in a body bag. Maybe the struggling men would have been a funny sight, if the thing they were struggling with was a dummy and not a nearly desecrated corpse.

Back in the taxi, John looked at Sherlock. Something was off. When talking to Lestrade John too had noticed that Sherlock hadn't told the detective the whole truth. It was rare that Sherlock didn't trust the cops with information. He adjusted his position a little, so he was able to look directly at Sherlock without having to turn his head for a long period of time.

'So, what aren't you telling?'

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts and quickly turned to John, but he avoided eye contact.

'What do you mean?'

'Sherlock, you can fool the police, even Lestrade maybe, but you can't fool me. You know the most things about murders and you couldn't even name a murder weapon?'

'I did give a murder weapon.'

'Something sharp doesn't suffice.'

Sherlock didn't answer and still wouldn't meet Johns eyes but rather inspected the dirty taxi window besides John's head.

'Why are you hiding this? You know you can trust me, I have seen you solve every case and now you won't tell me anything? You know what, I think you know who did it.'

'What.' Sherlock said softly, almost if he was talking to himself instead of John.

John squinted slightly, rather confused.

'What?'

'Whatever killed that man wasn't a who, it was a what.'

John slowly shook his head and sighed.

'Sherlock, you don't make any sense.'

Suddenly Sherlock raised his head, and looked John dead in the eye.

'Whatever killed that man wasn't human, John.'

TBC


	2. Barbara is a stupid name anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who favorited and followed this story!
> 
> Beta Reader: FluffyToaster
> 
> Disclaimer: I just write for fun and not for money, all characters belong to their rightful owners.
> 
> Again, i'm dyslectic, English is not my mother tongue, yadiyadiyada etc etc
> 
> Hope you like it :3
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: GORE

Sam closed his laptop.

There had been several archives in London Kevin could have visited, and it was his duty to find out which. Sam had now narrowed down the number of possible archives to four. Maybe Bobby would recognise one of the archives' names and could help them out. It wasn't very likely, Sam didn't think Bobby would leave out such important information if he remembered, but it was worth a shot.

The door of the restaurant opened and Dean entered. The two brothers had split up after breakfast. Sam would stay near the motel and do his research and Dean would go and check other motels for a trace of Kevin.

Dean did a quick scan and saw Sam sitting somewhere in the back. Whilst walking towards his brother he nodded and smiled to two ladies who politely smiled back. Maybe he would talk to them on his way out, then he actually had some action this morning. Dean grabbed a chair and it loudly scraped across the floor. Earning him a few angry lookds from the employes. Before he even was properly seated Sam started to talk.

'Did you find something?'

'Yeah, Jack squat. Wherever Kevin stayed wasn't in a motel, in this area atleast. None of the men I talked too remembered a man with a snake tattoo on his neck. But if you want to know where a guy is with a skull on his chin, I know where to find him, and I know where to find a man with a shark on his hand, but nothing on snakes. Well, at least not snakes on necks, if you know what I mean. Please tell me you got something better?' Dean said.

Before Sam could answer a waitress walked up to their table asked.

'Can I get you two anything?'

Dean smiled.

'Well, Barbara,' he said as he quickly read her name on the name tag pinned on her chest. 'Normally I would ask for some sugar but it seems like you're already sweet enough.'

She blinked, and after a seconds she smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Ignoring Dean after she asked Sam of he wanted anything else. Sam lightly shook his head.

'No, thanks.'

She nodded shortly, politly smiled to Sam, ignored Dean and curtly turned around to help other customers.

Dean huffed.

'Barbara is a stupid name anyway.' he mutterd

Sam stared at his brother for a few seconds before he almost unnoticably shook his head and started to speak.

'Well, anyway, I actually did find something, but it isn't something we were looking for.' Sam then shoved a newspaper towards Dean. Dean immediately noticed the part that Sam had marked with highlighter.

'MAN FOUND DEAD ON ABANDONED INDUSTRIAL SITE, STILL NO SUSPECTS.'

Dean read out loud:

'An unidentified man has been found dead found in a closed down industrial site south of the Thames. The police said that the body had been laying there for at least a week before it was found. The body was so damaged that the person wasn't recognisable. They police doesn't want to disclose anymore information as the investigation is still running.'

When Dean looked to Sam again and was met with a face full ofanticipation.

'So?', Dean asked.

'Uhh, So? Dean, the guy was damaged beyond recognision. Further down the article even says that the guy who found the body wasn't even sure if it was a body!'

'Well, this is a pretty big city. It isn't rare some psycho thinks wasting somebody is a fun thing to do, you know?'

'Beyond recognision Dean, and thats not all of it!'

While talking Sam opened his laptop again and typed a few things.

'Look, this isn't the first violent death here in London.'

'Oh come on Sam! Of course it isn't! Altough it may look like it, not every body in this country is a deadbeat dweeb. And as I remember saying, this is a big city with too many people trying to ignore each other, that is just asking for trouble!'

'Dean, would you hear me out please? I wasn't finished. In the last five years there have been a total of 671 murders in London. Most of them are simple, killed by gun or stab wound or even poisoning, most of the motives were pretty simple too. Like, this guy killed his boss for firing him, or, a woman killed her husband for having an affair, or, just a robbery gone wrong. If you cross all of the murders where the murder weapon is know off, you are left with 42 murders. And look at this.'

Sam now turned his laptop towards his brother and Dean saw that it showed some articles of unsolved murders, most of them pretty violent too.

'At least five of those 42 murders with no identified murder weapon were very violent killings, it is reported that all of them died missing large chunks of their throat, leaving the victims unable to breath or making them bleed to death. Besides that, the murders are unconnected. One man died in the house of his mother, another girl died at a strip club, there even is a grandparent who was murdered in the changing room of a swimming pool. For some of the murders there are suspects arrested, but none are yet proven to be the murderer, for most of the suspects the trials are still running.'

'So what's your theory Batman? They all visited a haunted place and caught a nasty angry spirit?'

'I haven't figured it out yet, it could be a werewolf of sorts, or maybe a vampire, or even a ghost. But nothing actually springs to mind.'

'I have a theory', Dean said. 'Maybe it's just a sicko killing people off? I mean, the victims and murder scenes are highly irregular. And as you know when we find irregular murders they are mostly caused by humans.'

Sam shook his head in desparation and sighed in the process.

'Look, maybe you're right, but what can checking it out hurt? We could atleast take a look at the newest body. Just to make sure it wasn't a werewolf or something like that.'

Dean sat back and looked at his brother. Sam really wanted to check this thing out. Well, he couldn't say it would hurt. It was better than traveling from old motel to motel to search for a guy who clearly didn't want to be found. And maybe Sammy was right and had he actually stumbled across something supernatural.

'Okay okay, we'll take a look at the dead guy. But how did you want to do that? I think using our shiny FBI passes is a little risky this time.'

Sam started grinning, partly because he had just convinced his brother and partly because he already had a plan.

'I got us covered'

-~o0o~-

'Why do you want to look at the body again? Didn't you get a good enough look yesterday?'

John had some trouble catching up to Sherlock. He had just finished paying the cabbie to release Sherlock had already darted off. His impatient friend had decided that he would visit the morgue to take a second look at the body. But instead of waiting till John had finished his morning routine the consulting detective had practically dragged him from the bathroom and the next second John was outside with his shaver still in his hand. Luckily for him John had just finished, so he didn't have to go on the street with half of his face shaved clean and the other half still full of stubbles.

'I think I know what the murder weapon was. Yesterday I was already suspicious but it's real absurd, so I wanted to do some thinking and research before sharing it.'

Sherlock opened the door to St. Bart's and held it a little longer so that the door wouldn't slam directly in Johns face. He did it unconsciously, because his mind was making over hours thinking about the body. It was actually the first time he encountered a corpse with such gashes, and indeed it was one very absurd theory so before uttering it out loud he really wanted to double check if his theory actually had some base and if Molly would back him up.

Ignoring the secretaries of the hospital he walked straight past their desks, his feet taking him automatically to the morgue. He was sure Molly would let them in, like she always did, so he didn't need to identify himself. He noticed that the hospital was quiet, probably because it still was morning and nobody had the chance to hurt himself so badly they needed to go to the hospital. Realising that John had trouble keeping up he slowed his pace a little. When John was beside him Sherlock glanced at him, noticing that John hadn't completely finished shaving. He had missed a few spots. Sherlock decided he wouldn't tell his companion about said missed spots, he didn't think his friend would appreciate it, because he was the cause John couldn't shave properly this morning. But Sherlock was in a hurry, it wasn't often he encountered something he had never seen before. The last time most of his cases had been very standard, employee killed his boss, daughter killed distant father for the inheritance. All those cases were solved in less than a day, but this, this was something else. Sherlock wondered if John would believe him.

Sherlock opened the door to the morgue, startling a working Molly in the process. She was looking through a microscope when he entered and nearly knocked it over when she swiftly turned to face the intruder of her workspace.

'Sherlock!' she said with a little shock on her face, he hadn't expected him so soon.

'Hi Molly, lovely day isn't it? Can I see the body that was brought here yesterday at 18:47? And while you're at it, do you already have an autopsy?'

John entered when his friend was done speaking and greeted Molly with a softly spoken 'Hi' and a weak wave.

Still startled Molly had some difficulty trying to keep up with the fast spoken words.

'Uhmm, Sherlock I'm not sure if-'

Not having the patience to try and explain the situation he stepped forward so he was face to face with Molly and simply said;

'Please.'

Sherlock noticed that Molly's face turned slightly red before she turned her face away, still avoiding his eyes, she nodded.

'Follow me.'

A moment later the three of them stood around the remains of the presumed 'Kevin Thompson.' Sherlock was bowed over the body, John was watching Sherlock do his thing, and Molly was looking through the files in her hand, searching for her official report she had been working on the last evening. She started talking.

'I actually wrote the autopsy, but I didn't send it to Lestrade yet, I wanted to do a double check first before I sent it. Because if I'm right London might have a-'

'Big cat problem', Sherlock finished her sentence and locked eyes with her.

Hesitantly she nodded and after a few seconds of silence she said.

'But as you probably have seen that isn't the only thing.'

Now it was Sherlock's turn to slowly nod.

John was confused.

'What do you two mean with big cat problem? You mean that this guy was killed by a lion or something like that?' and that would be truly ridiculous, he thought, although he didn't say that out loud.

Sherlock switched his attention to John, waited a second and then pointed at the corpses abdomen.

'You see these gashes? They aren't made by a knife, the edges are too rough for a clean knife, so they were made by claws. Feline claws to be exact. So yes, a tiger or panther or another big cat. Because I haven't had to deal with big cat attacks before,so I don't exactly know which one it is. But as Molly and I both agree we can at least conclude that this man was attacked by a big feline. Before we can conclude which one we have to visit the London zoo first.'

John stared blankly at Sherlock. To be honest, he had expected some ridiculous answer, because when Sherlock didn't want to share something it often meant that he wasn't sure of his theory or that he didn't trust John to believe him.

'You sure?'

Sherlock blinked.

'Yes, these wounds', he pointed at the torn open stomach, 'are definitely made by the claws of a big cat.'

John frowned shortly, but then nodded at Sherlock, confirming that he believed him. Sherlock didn't show it but he was glad John would believe him, however with the next part Sherlock wasn't sure if John would agree to believe him so easily.

'However, these wounds...' He now pointed at the destroyed neck of the man.'...Aren't made by a feline... But by a human...'

Sherlock paused a little, looking at John and waiting for a reaction. He saw that his shorter friend waited expectantly for the rest of his sentence, altough John already looked a little suprised to learn that the man wasn't only attacked by a feline but by a man too.

'Too be exact, these wounds are made by human teeth.'

There was silence. Sherlock waited for John's reaction.

'Human. Teeth.'

'Yes', Sherlock answered patiently.

John frowned at Sherlock again and looked from Sherlock to the body, then to Sherlock again.

'You mean to tell me that some guy attacked, this man.' He vaguely motioned to the corpse. 'Ripped the guys throat out, with his own mouth... 'John paused shortly, so that he was sure that Sherlock listened to what he was asking. '... And then sent his pet lion, or tiger or whatever to finish the man off?'

'Well, the man probably was already dead by then.'

John just stared at Sherlock, not saying anything, so Sherlock guessed John needed more confirmation.

'I'm not saying that the man had a pet lion, or tiger or panther with him, I'm saying that the man was attacked by a man and feline.'

'Right.'

John and Sherlock stared at each other. Sherlock wondering if John believed him, and John wondering if he should.

Molly looked at the two, she could confirm that Sherlock's story was right, but somehow doubted that John would believe her anymore than he did Sherlock, so she just said nothing and waited for what would happen.

Just when John opened his mouth to say something the door opened.

Two men in suits entered.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwuhaha, the fun is getting started!
> 
> Note: I didn't mean to offend anyone named Barbara, hey, I don't hate the name, Dean does :P (If it makes you feel better, my name means 'Manly' and that would be fine, if I was actually a guy, which I'm not XD )
> 
> If you have any comments, questions, suggestions, whatever, don't be afraid to leave a review or PM me :)
> 
> Have a wonderful day!


	3. That's probably illegal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody, we're back yet again!
> 
> Thanks to everybody who took the time to read, review, favorite, and follow this story. I Love you and I hope you will stick with me till the very end! :3
> 
> I just finished season 6 of Supernatural, and the only thing I will say is: How the mighty have fallen! I'm starting season 7 this Monday, really looking forward to it :3 (pleaseinternetdontspoilanythingthankyou)
> 
> But to celebrate the finale of season 6 I thought I give you pretties a new chapter early!
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, just entertaining the internet with my my writing skill (if I possess any :P)
> 
> Beta Reader: FluffingToaster
> 
> And as you know, even tough I have lovely Beta reader, it is very possible you find some mistakes, let me know if you find any!
> 
> And now: First contact!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: GORE

John was immediately on edge. He didn't like men in suits. When he was still in the army it was often the men in suit who were the worst killers. They had happily sent entire legions to war without breaking a sweat. In their eyes John saw they knew, they knew those men wouldn't return, but they just didn't care.

John eyed the two men suspiciously, The longer one had brown chestnut hair that stopped just above his shoulders, he also looked younger than the second man, who was at least two heads shorter and had short brown hair, his features were a lot sharper than his companion.

The two were slightly startled as well, they probably hadn't expected a whole company in the morgue, the shorter of the two recovered the first and while stepping into the room he started to speak.

'We're looking for Molly Hooper, we were told she would be here.'

The man obviously wasn't British, his accent was all off, he was American. What was an American man doing in the morgue of the St Bart's hospital? John glanced at Sherlock to see if he was thinking the same thing, but he got no reaction.

Molly stepped away from the table with the body on it. She, on the other hand, had no suspicion at all, she often had to deal with men like these, most of the time they were people from the police department who had questions or needed her advice.

'That would be me, can I help you with anything?'

The second man, with the long hair, who had followed the shorter one into the room took over from his companion and said:

'For a matter of fact: yes. We're here to take a look at what was brought in yesterday, and you are presumably the person who can show it to us?'

Molly started to nod but before she could answer Sherlock stepped forward.

'And who would want to see the body of an murdered man, as you aren't from the London police department, who already did their assessment yesterday evening and are now waiting for an autopsy and thus have no reason to be here, nor have any other police departments?'

The man looked a little suprised by the sudden attack but again, recovered quickly, it was however the shorter man who answered.

'We're from the Interpol, I'm agent Jackson Stewart and this is my partner Bobby Singer.' To show he was speaking the truth he and his friend showed two official looking ID's accompanied by badges.

'We're here to look into the murder,' He continued, 'we suspect you have an international serial killer here in London, and would like to see the body for ourselves.'

Putting away his ID he did a step forward, now directly facing the taller Sherlock, the look on his face was blatant challenge. With a fake smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes he said:

'But who is asking? Where I come from not everybody who fancies seeing a dead body is allowed into a morgue, so why are you?'

Sherlock stepped aside, ignoring the man's (Jackson was his name?) challenge. Barely looking at him he started talking with a very fast pace. It reminded John of the times Sherlock talked to Anderson, with little interest and with little respect.

'I'm a consultant detective, you've probably never heard of it, especially not in the US, where even the normal detectives can't seem to do their work properly, but I just finished so now you can play with it as you wish, we'll be on our way, are you coming John?'

When Sherlock finished talking he already stood next to the door and was impatiently motioning John to follow.

Seconds later the two stood outside in the quiet hospital hall, nobody else was present so they could talk freely.

John frowned.

'Sherlock, what in lords name happened back there?'

Sherlock ignored him and grabbed something from his pocket. John took a closer look and barely could suppress a gasp. It was the ID and badge of one of the agents.

'Sherlock, how did you..? Nevermind, That's probably illegal, you know. Stealing some agents ID.' he added dryly.

John didn't know when Sherlock could have had the chance to swipe that pass, but then again, Sherlock was very resourceful.

After examining the pass for a few seconds Sherlock mumbled.

'Just as I thought...'

Putting the ID away in his trench coat he took off, naturally expecting John to follow, which John naturally did. Motioning to John to walk beside him Sherlock started talking.

'We have to hurry, we need to go to the security room and see what those two are doing, I doubt it will be any good.'

'Why wouldn't it be any good?

'I don't know what they are, but they aren't from the Interpol.'

The two were now making their way through the more open areas of the hospital, and it was busier than an hour ago when they first entered. John however doubted that anyone would pay attention to them, they had other things on their minds.

John thought about Sherlock's latest statement. There had been something off about the two. He probably had spent too much time with Sherlock, but the two just seemed... off.

He simply asked:

'So how do you know?'

Sherlock glanced at his friend. John didn't doubt his words. Quickly scanning the hallway he saw that nobody was looking at them, the doctors too busy with rushing from one place to another, the nurses even more, and the patients had more pressing matters to worry about, like not bleeding completely dry in the waiting area. Seeing it was safe to speak he started his explanation.

'The most obvious clue were their badges, those were fake, they are very good fakes, but still fakes. The passes too. I already had my suspicion when they first showed them, but I needed to double check them to be sure, and I was right. So they are lying about who they are, thus the next question is, who are they? For starters, they are brothers, very close brothers. Every time one of them moved the other would move slightly so that they would be aligned again, almost if they were covering each other, so they are prepared for an attack at all times, who is prepared for an attack at all times? Maybe someone who works with the mafia? And who did we meet recently who presumably works with the mafia? Kevin Thompson, the two are connected in some way. But that's not all of it. The shorter one, who called himself Jackson Stewart is the dominant and protective one. As soon as I challenged his brother, he took over. That's a sign of having distrust that the other could handle the situation, it fits perfectly with a younger-brother-older-brother relationship. This isn't the first time they pretend to be someone they are not, the two had their story ready and when I would have asked further they probably would've had watertight answers. But the two aren't really used to wearing suits. They stood too stiff for someone who wears suits every day, however, the shorter one dislikes it the most, when he entered he was still plucking at the tie around his neck, so he is uncomfortable in them. There was no possible way those two would let us in the room, not without a fight, either with words or with fists for that matter, so if we want to know more we have to find another way to observe them.

Sherlock left out that he had a nagging feeling that he had seen the two before... But that was a mystery that needed solving another time, now he needed to find out why they were here and what they were planning to do.

John slowly nodded, still thinking about what Sherlock had told him. One thing bugged him however.

'So why didn't you confront them right there? I mean, if anyone can pressure people in answering, it is you!'

The two stopped before the security room and while Sherlock put his hand on the door to open it he looked directly at John, and smiled with a dangerous glint in his eye.

'But my dear Watson, what's the fun in that?'

-~o0o~-

Sam looked at the door which Sherlock had just closed, not realizing he now missed his ID pass and badge. He shortly frowned, that had been odd. Meanwhile, Dean was talking to Molly.

'I presume this is the body that was brought in yesterday?'

he said while he walked to the table with the corpse on it, an unpleasant smell was already filling the room. He averted his eyes, he had seen many of this kinds of bodies, but it still wasn't a pleasant sight. He would let Sam take a look at it, his brother would probably make a little sense of this mess, he himself wouldn't as much, he was more the poke-it-with-a-stick kind of guy.

The girl answered.

'Yes, he was found dead yesterday evening on the south industrial sites, he must've died at least five days ago, I have an autopsy but...'

She hadn't included the feline claws and human teeth in it yet, so it would be of little use for the two agents. But she was reluctant to give them that information. Something about how Sherlock acted earlier told her that he didn't trust the two agents, maybe because it was that Sherlock wasn't fond of strangers, or agents for the matter, or it was that Sherlock noticed something about them..

She decided not to tell them what she and Sherlock had just discussed, they would find out when she sent the official report to Lestrade.

'...but it isn't completely finished yet, I still have to run a few tests.'

The longer man, (wasn't he called Bobby?) looked directly at her, eyeing her up, probably trying to find out what she had actually wanted to say, but then he nodded.

'Well then, once you finished your tests we would like to see the results, is there a chance we can see your unfinished autopsy then? He said.

She hastily nodded..

'Yes, yes of course'

She handed over the files she originally had searched for Sherlock to the outstretched hands of the man.

The man who introduced himself as Jackson snatched the files from his partner and quickly flipped through them. Looking up to her he gave her a smile someone would give her at the pub and said.

'Well, if you please would excuse us, we would like to have some privacy.'

It wasn't often she was sent away when cops came check on a body, to be fair, this was the first time. Seeing her confusion Bobby quickly answered.

'It's just that our working methods are –'

'Classified' said the other and finished the sentence, still smiling.

Bobby looked at his partner, swallowed, and nodded.

'Yes, classified.'

Dean looked at the woman in front of them. She was looking directly at him, trying to judge if they were trustworthy. Dean kept smiling and it worked. She nodded curtly, gathered some of the other papers she had pulled out of the many cabinets in the room while searching for the autopsy and left.

As soon as she left Dean sighed relieved and dropped his smile.

'Man, I thought she never leave.'

Sam nodded absently and shook of his jacket. Walking towards the body he asked Dean. 'Why were you so aggressive to that guy anyway?'

Listening to his brother's question he grabbed a chair, turned it the wrong way round and sat on it, so his arms rested on the back of the chair.

Sam continued. 'I mean, his questions weren't completly unjustified, seeing that it is quite odd that suddenly Interpol appears in London.'

Dean nodded and slightly pouted his lips.

'I know guys like that Sammy, seen them many times with dad, they go around thinking they're master detectives and creeping around morgues, claiming they know how somebody got killed while even the persons who actually knows what they're doing doesn't know, they're pretentious dicks, that's all they are, and that guy back there wasn't any different.'

'Hmmm.' Sam answered, already not listening anymore, too preoccupied with the body.

The man definitely hadn't died yesterday, so the article hadn't been lying. It had already started decomposing and looked pretty messed up. There was a huge chunk missing from his neck and even a part of his shoulder had been torn of. He also had enormous wounds on his stomach and chest, somebody really wanted this guy dead.

Dean stared at his the body from his chair. Rather happy that his brother was the one doing the poking and not him.

'So what do you think? Maybe a werewolf?'

Sam quickly glanced at his brother and answered.

'It could be, these wounds could easily be inflicted by a werewolf, and the time cycle is right I think... But we'll know for sure if the heart is missing.'

Dean quickly pulled the gloves they had brought with them from their bag and tossed them to Sam, who gracefully caught them.

'Thanks' he mumbled, not looking forward to the job at hand.

Dean averted his eyes when Sam pushed his hands into the body, managing not to flinch when he heard the sucking and slurping sounds.

Sam nearly gagged when his hand sunk into the wet flesh, a horrible stench rose from the disturbed body, but after what seemed an eternity his hand closed around the unmistakable organ he was searching for.

'Well, at least it's not a werewolf' he said through his clenched teeth, quickly pulling his hand from the body.

'The heart is definitely here.' he explained.

Dean shrugged, but didn't answer. He waited until Sam had finished his little research before making any conclusions himself.

Sam now moved his attention to the neck. It was completely destroyed, it almost was as if somebody had literally ripped it off. So if it wasn't a werewolf who had played a little rough, maybe it was a very, very aggressive vampire? He turned the head of the body to check for choking bruises when...

'Shit...' He whispered, not loud enough for Dean to hear.

After a second he said to Dean, this time loud enough.

'... You may want to take a look at this.'

'I'd rather not, thank you very much.'

Sam looked away from the body and directly into Dean's eyes. Seeing no humor in his brother's eyes, Dean sighed, stood up and walked over towards his brother. Following Sam's eyes to where he was looking Dean saw Sam's fingers gently touching the neck of the man, just above an unmistakable snake tattoo.

Dean brushed his hands through his hair in frustration.

'Shit, is this the hunter we've been looking for?'

Sam sighed and looked at his frustrated brother.

'Yeah, probably, I mean, it all adds up, the snake tattoo, the sudden radio silence with Bobby, he probably was here to do research on those murders but then got jumped himself.'

Dean slammed his hand down on the table.

'Well, now this shit is personal, nobody goes around killing hunters on my watch.' he said louder than necessary.

Sam stepped away from the body, he had seen enough, and he needed his brother to see reason.

'But, Dean, we don't even know what it is! It couldn't be a werewolf, I doubt it is a ghost, because the murders just don't add up that way. It could maybe be a rogue vampire... but I doubt it. I never heard of a vampire going down on victims like this, and if I'm correct the victim wasn't drained of all its blood.'

'Crazy vampire, forgetful werewolf, I don't care, we're taking this bastard down.'

Dean turned and looked at his brother again and asked him, still frustrated.

'Did he have anything on him? Maybe a motel key or something like that?'

Sam stepped away from the body and walked towards the table where Dean had dropped the files. He quickly flipped through them till he found the page he was looking for.

'Uhh, here it says he had a couple of things on him, a wallet, pouch of salt , gun, several knifes, and...' He looked a Dean again and he smiled triumphantly. '… a motel key.'

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! (not really, just really wanted to say that :P The plot will however thicken in a few chapters, I promise)
> 
> Don't be afraid to leave a review, PM me, send a pigeon, summon me with a spell or contact me in any other way! I would absolutely love to hear what you think about the story so far :D
> 
> Have a wonderful day!


	4. Do you smell that too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It 1:30 AM where I am now, and I'm uploading every chapter to this site... Whatamidoingwithmylive  
> Nah, just kidding, but excuse me if I make any mistakes! Now, back to the me in that past when I started posting this puppy on fanfiction.net
> 
> Diclaimer: I write for fun and because i love both shows, I don't make money and I don't intend to :)
> 
> Beta-Reader: on vacation! so I had to settle for grammarly and myself. But I am only human (A dyslectic and dutch one) and I make mistakes!
> 
> Honourble mentions: FluffingToaster, for beta reading the other chapters :3
> 
> And now, just for you my pretties, chapter 5!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNING: NONE :D

Sherlock stared intensely at the two men on the surveillances screens. The camera didn't have a microphone, so he couldn't hear what the two were saying. Thee larger one of the two, the one of which he had swiped the false badge, shortly inspected the body, put on a pair of gloves and then forced his hand straight through the mans open chest. Besides him, he could hear John softly gasp for air when he turned away.

The veteran and blogger had seen his fair share of nasty things, but this had just earned his place on his 'Things-you-shouldn't-look-at-when-you-plan-eating-the-same-day.' Sherlock, however, having done the same thing the man on the screen had done many times before, only focused harder. Why would the man stick his hand in the corpses chest? He didn't look directly into the wound, so he wasn't looking for clues as to what the weapon could have been. He was searching for something, organs probably. Now, why would one check for organs on a dead body? He knew a couple of reasons.

One: The man thought the guy he was sticking his hand into was a victim of organ trade.

Two: he suspected the man had been killed by a killer who took organs as a trophy. (it wouldn't be the first time Sherlock encountered such a murderer)

Almost immediately he crossed number one of his list. The guy couldn't possibly be a victim of organ thieves, even an amatured should know that. He was way to torn up for that. Many of the valuable organs those thieves were normally after had been damaged by the attacker, making them worthless.

He looked as the man pulled found what he was looking for and pulled his hand out of the corpse with a disgusted look on his face. But despite that disgusted look Sherlock could tell this wasn't the first time the man had to stick his hand in dead bodies. The man hadn't looked happy, but his hand had been steady and he hadn't hesitated.

With every second that passed these guys moved further and further away from being normal agents. Sherlock observed as the man on the chair was called by his partner and saw that he slammed his fist on the table after looking at the man's they had recognised the man, or at least knew who he was, judging from that expression. He didn't see any signs of grief on either person's face. Grief was often displayed in sadness or anger, and although the second man had clearly displayed signs of anger it wasn't the right kind. He hadn't looked on the dead man's face to confirm if this was a person he knew, and because of that, Sherlock knew that this man wasn't close to the two, it was possible that they had never met. if they were relatives or even friends, they would've searched for a clue that this wasn't their friend, or family, because men always searched for a reason to believe the deceased person wasn't the one they feared it to be.

But again, the two hadn't done that. So they were business related? It could be very possible, maybe the two had been sent to England to pick the guy up, but when he hadn't shown they started to search for him, and that led them here? But that didn't make sense. At first hand, it had looked if the man next to the body had done an autopsy, although it had been unusual that the man had checked for organs, it hadn't been completely unjustified. But then they had noticed the neck tattoo and their attitude had completly changed.

After the shorter one gestured aggressively to the autopsy and other files he had dropped on the table the longer one picked them up and quickly flipped through, so the shorter one was in control, and thus the probably the older one.

Appperiantly he had found what he had been looking for, because he showed his brother somethings in the file, and after that they quickly disposed of the gloves and started to leave. Now the action would begin. However, before he left he whipped out his phone and shot of few pictures of the monitors with the faces of the two easily visible, quickly he put his phone away again and glanced at the screen was no way he would let those two escape now. This was a case with his name on it, and if he wanted to solve it he couldn't lose those two.

Abruptly he turned and almost knocked an unsuspecting John over, who was still focused on the video screens in front of him.

Sherlock, trusting that John would follow him, pushed the doors of the dark and dusty room open and ignored the unhappy guard in the hallway. Sherlock had forced him out oof the room by threatening to tell the head of the hospital staff that he prefered watching porn instead of oing his job. You didn't need to be a mastermind to see that, as soon as Sherlock made the suggestion John too saw the signs, the tissues, full garbage bin, and half hidden magazines...

John had been careful to avoid the chairs, not wanting to know what was on them. The guard had recognised Sherlock and he knew that;

A: Sherlock was a weird guy you shouldn't hinder, and B: Sherlock wasn't a person who uttered empty threats, so if he wanted to keep his job, he better let the guy do what he wanted and after that he could go on with his day as if nothing had happend. However, that didn't stop him of glaring towards Sherlock's back.

John quickly followed Sherlock out of the room and send the guard an apologetic look, it wasn't his fault Sherlock decided that he wanted this case all for himself, and thus avoided letting anybody who could even be associated with the cops see him work. Running a few steps John was next to Sherlock again. Because they were in the excluded part of the hospital John could talk out loud without worry of anybody hearing him.

'So, what's the plan?'

Before he answered, Sherlock whipped out his phone again and quickly typed a few things like the world would end if he didn't send his text in the next few seconds.

'We need to know what they're going to do next, it could be that now their colleague is dead they retreat back to the US again, If they happen to outrun us they will stop them at the airport. I've got some people who will warn us, and if needed delay them if that happens. But it could be those two are up for revenge...'

Sherlock stopped talking. He very much doubted that the two would leave the country. It just didn't seem right. The two weren't here looking at a death colleague... But why would they risk the chance of being of caught and arrested for false ID's and impersonating of international agents just to take a look at a dead body? it just didn't seem right. this story was all wrong, and that was why it was such an interesting case...

John didn't like the look on Sherlocks face. It was the look he always had when he just didn't quite get somebody's motive. And when that was the case, John knew that nothing could stop Sherlock finding the truth, and more often than not Sherlock could become... a little unpredictable. His train of thought was rudely interrupted as he literally bounced against Sherlock outstretched arm.

'Sherlock, what in the...' he said, as Sherlock pushed him even further back. They were just about to turn a corner when Sherlock had stopped him. Sherlock didn't even look at him when he lightly shoved him back, his head was around the corner, looking at what was happening there.

Sherlock had expected the two to be already out of the hospital, he hadn't expected to linger here, it would only enlarge the danger of getting caught. But now the two were still here, the only difference the smaller one now carried a bag, with nothing heavy in it, talking carelessly with Molly with a lot of other staff around as if nothing was wrong or strange about the two agents who suddenly had appeared in their hospital. Sherlock couldn't make out what the conversation was about. And although Molly was a little nervous while talking to them (she shifted the weight from one foot to another when the two continued with their story) but she didn't seem the conversation out of the ordinary, because she nodded along with the story, looking the two in the eye. After a short moment, the two nodded Molly farewell and while avoiding bouncing in the other staff members in the white polished hallway they rounded a corner, no doubt towards the exit.

When the two were out of sight Sherlock hastily turned around the corner, forcing the mint clothed nurses to quickly step aside if they didn't want to be knocked over. Putting a hand on Molly, who was still looking at the spot where the two had disappeared out of her sight, and turned her a little too forcefully around. Molly jumped when she felt the hand on her shoulder and didn't relax when she saw the wild look on Sherlock's face. Sherlock didn't waste time on small talk but jumped straight to the point.

'What did they want from you?

Molly took a second to look into Sherlocks eye's. They were scanning her, trying to deduce what the conversation had been about before she had even answered.

'They said they needed the ,umm, items that were found on the body for the investigation. I had already finished doing my research on them, so I handed it over. After that, They came here and they asked if I could notify them if I found anything out of the ordinary But Sherlock, why, if you don't mind, do you ask?'

Sherlock ignored her question

'What, exactly, did you give them?'

Molly blinked a few times.

'Uhm, his wallet, knifes, motel key-.'

Sherlock frowned shortly.

'Motal key, there wasn't a motel key on him.'

Molly nodded in confirmation.

'uh, yes, that's true, but I believe it was found on the crime scene, and I only found the DNA of the victim on it, so it must have fell out of his pocket when he was attacked.'

Sherlock needed that key. He took a few steps away from her and looking towards where the two had disappeared from his vision. He turned around to look for John and he saw him standing behind Molly, looking slightly confused. John clearly didn't completely understand what Sherlock was up to, And of course, to Sherlock, that meant he was absolutely clueless and oblivious to the facts right before his eyes. Suppressing a sigh he motioned John to follow. While started walking he simply said.

'Those two aren't going to leave he country anytime soon, and we need to figure where they're going next.'

-~o0o~-

Dean listened to Sam as he was talking to Bobby on the phone. After Sammy had told Bobby the bad news there had been a silence, then a few curse words and a heavy sigh.

'Well, whatever killed that hunter ain't pretty boy. You and your brother have to be careful. England isn't a the hunting ground you're used too, you know?'

Sam unconsciously nodded, not realising Bobby couldn't see him.

'We know, we'll be careful.'

There was a short silence

'But Bobby, youre sure Kevin didn't say anything else before he disappeared? You know, anything odd?

Bobby sighed again.

'You know, I wasn't worried at the time, Kevin was a good hunter, and he was just in London to look at some books and stuff I don't have here. He wasn't exactly looking for a hunt, you know?'

'Yes, I understand.' Sam said in defeat. He had already expected such answer, but it had been worth a shot.

'Do you maybe have any idea what could have killed him?'

Sam could hear some clicks on the other side of the line, as Bobby started up his old computer to look at the pictures Dean had sent him earlier. He and Sam had snatched a copy of the autopsy which included pictures of Kevin's mangled body.

'Hmm, I don't know son, it could be anything you suggested earlier, a werewolf who couldn't finish the job, or a vamp who just wanted some fun. You should try and find out where Kevin was in his last days.'

Sam brushed his hand through his hair as he answered.

'Uhm, yeah, we've got this motel key that was found on him, so we're headed there now. But did he by coincidence tell you where the archive was he visited?'

'No, sorry boys, but you've got a big change of finding more in that motel, if you find anything else, call me.'

'Yes, of course, thanks Bobby.'

And with that Sam hung up and put his phone away. Next to him Dean looked at him with a curious look in his eyes. Dean heard most some slurred lines, but not nearly enough to know what the two had been yapping on about. Sam relieved him of his curiosity.

'Well, Bobby got nothing, but he thinks we have a pretty big chance of finding more in that motel.'

'Which we have to walk too, because we don't have car.'

Sam managed not to groan. He thought that Dean was done with whining and had finally accepted their situation. He should've known better.

'What else should we've done? Delay the crossing with six days just to take a boat?'

The two joined a growing crowd of people who had stopped for a red light, some of them were talking to their phones, others were eyeing the red light impatiently, but most of the people just stared blankly ahead.

'I'm only saying that if we've done that, then we would have the Impala right now, and we wouldn't have to walk while it could start to rain any moment.'

'Well, I'm only saying that doesn't change the situation at hand, because we didn't take the boat.'

'Well, I'm only saying that maybe we've should consider doing that when we go on our next family trip.'

Sam threw his hands up in the air. Inching closer to Dean so that he was more difficult for potential curious ears who had nothing else to do but to eavesdrop to the two men in suits.

'Dean, first of all, this is everything but a normal 'family trip'. We're dealing with something really dangerous here. If it got to Kevin, who I am very sure was capable from defending himself just as-'

Sam wanted to say a lot more but was interrupted by Dean.

'Yeah yeah, calm your tits, do you smell that too?'

Immediately Sam forgot his rant from a few seconds ago. They were being followed. That last sentence was one of the codewords Dean had invented to let each other know when something was wrong, and again it appeared that it hadn't been for nothing.

Sam looked at the street behind them. The clouds were packing together, making the day darker than it really was. The Londoners we're either looking at their street just before their feet or looking up to the sky with a rather worried look on their face. Some even had already their umbrella's out. Sam counted at least two beggers. It all looked really somber, but from the few days he had been in London, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Sam slightly raised his eyebrows and shot his brother a questioning look.

'uhh, no, I don't smell anything.'

Now it was Dean's turn to raise his eyebrow.

'You sure? Because I think that smell is coming from that pub at the end of the street.

Sam looked at the street again, trying to locate the pub Dean had been talking about. There were several pubs in the street, so it took him a moment to find the right one. But eventually he saw what Dean was hinting at. There, at the end of the street, two men were engaged in a conversation together. The longer one wore a trenchcoat with a blue scarf, the smaller one wore a simple jacket and beneath that an even simpler sweater. They'd fit perfectly into the scenery. It didn't take long to recognise them as the two who were in the morgue that morning.

The streetlight turned green and the mob of waiting people started moving, forcing Sam and Dean to move along with them to avoid gaining unwanted attention. Sam tore his eyes away from the couple leaning against to pub and slowed his pace a little so they would fall slightly behind crowd before them. Softly he asked Dean.

'You sure those two are following us? I mean, it could be coincidence?'

'No Sammy, as I said before I've people like him before. But just to be sure...'

Without warning, Dean grabbed Sam's arm and yanked him into an alleyway. He quickened his pass, dragging Sam behind him. When he was sure that Sam wasn't going to slow down he released him. They were moving just moving fast enough that they weren't actually running. Dean took lead. He turned left, right, right, left, it didn't matter, as long as it was random. It wouldn't be a coincidence if that creep was still behind them after this. Dean dodged the one or two people who too were wandering in the alleyway, he could feel their annoyed looks burning in his back Sam muttering an excuse as he wasn't quick enough to dodge them. Right, left, crossing the street and again ducking into an alleyway. After a few more twists and turns he abruptly stopped, Sam just avoided bumping into him. Dean could hear that Sam's breath had slightly quickened, just as his had. Looking around he saw that they were at the centre of three crossing alleyways. All three deserted, well, except for the rats who were feasting on the leftovers in the trash cans. Above them thunder cracked.

Sam too was also looking around, trying to slow his breath to the normal rate. Coming to the conclusion that nobody was there he said. 'Well either we shook them of our tail or we weren't followed at all... and thus becoming paranoid...' Sam shortly frowned at his own statement. 'Well, either way, I suggest we get-'

Sam abruptly stopped talkibng and tensed as he two men turning the into the alleyway they had just come from. One with a trenchcoat and a blue scarf, one with a simple jacket and an even more simple sweater.

Sam and Dean stared for a moment at the two in front of them, and they stared back. it looked that they hadn't expected that the brothers would've suddenly stopped fleeing. Not breaking eye contact with their pursuers Dean said.

'So, I guess we were being followed.

Sam swallowed

'Yeah.'

'You know where the motel is?'

'Yeah.'

'I'll see you in thirty, make sure you lose him.'

This time Sam just nodded as Dean and he shared a quick look together. Dean's eyes litt up with excitement, the opposite of Sam's, who just showed worry. Then the brothers took off in opposite directions, racing through the streets of London.

And when finally the first drops of rains started to fall, Sam could hear the footsteps of their pursuers echo against the walls as they started to give chase.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love it? Hate it? let me know! I would love to recieve some feedback, this story is after all ment to improve my writing skill :3 (And because I love both series)
> 
> And if you have any questions, don't be shy! PM me or leave your qeustion in a review!
> 
> Have a wonderful day, or evening, depending on where you are :)
> 
> Untill next time!


	5. You frigging bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's now 1:32 AM
> 
> Note: I'm not a native English speaker and I am dyslectic, so eventough I try my best, it's very likely you'll find some mistakes!
> 
> Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, I just own the plot :3
> 
> Beta-Reader: Just me again, and the app Ginger page!
> 
> Honourble mention: FluffingToaster, I'm counting on you when your back!
> 
> And now... the real chapter 5!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNING: NONE :D

Sam wasn't sure which way to go. He was just turning randomly left and right and because of that had completely lost track of where he was. London was very different from the other places where he normally was engaged in a chase. The small villages weren't even close to being half as complicated as the London streets. Sam could either stay in the alleyways, hoping that the many turns would confuse his pursuer (Sam was pretty sure that only one of the two had followed him, meaning that the other one was probably now chasing after Dean.) Or he could try and find a more open area with more bystanders. He would attract a lot of attention, but so would the guy behind him. And if the gman that was following him had a weapon, he hopefully would be more hesitant to use it in the open space, but ofcourse, he had no guarantees...

He quickly decided that the second open was the best option, but now he just needed to find a way to actually make it to said open area...

Realizing that the sound of footsteps behind was becoming louder he started to run faster. It didn't look like he could outrun his pursuer. Dean had always been the faster one of the two. He turned a corner, scaring a cat to death in the progress. At the end of the alley there was a steel fence, luckily for him, that wasn't much of an obstacle , and hopefully it was a hinder for his stalker. He went even faster when he took a run up, he jumped and grabbed the top of the fence, using his feet he pushed himself along the fence, giving him enough speed to easily leap over it. He gracefully landed on the other side, managing not to slip and fall on the wet floor, for it was still raining. However, he didn't stop moving. Already reaching to exit of the alleyway he heard the fence rattle again as his pursuer tried to climb over it. Now Sam did look behind him, and saw the man in trench coat landing on his side of the fence. The two looked eyes for a second, only a second, but it was long enough for Sam to see the wild spark in the man's eyes. It was the opposite of the expression on his face, which was calm and calculated, and that was enough to make Sam slightly unsettled. Something in his mind told him that this man wouldn't play nice if he caught up to him.

It looked like Sam had been right about that he was being followed by only one person, the smaller man was nowhere in sight. Turning his face back to the alleyways in front of him tried to run even faster. It didn't look like he would lose the man in a trench coat in this maze, he wasn't fast enough and the man could jump fences and conguer obsticales as easily as he could. This didn't look very good... If only he had his weapons! He just had to keep running and hope that he would enter the more open streets before the man behind him had found a way to catch up. He was pretty sure he would win in a face to face fight, but if Sam had learned anything in his many years of hunting then it was that you never should judge a foe just by its looks. It would be far safer if he just lost the pursuer in the streets. Sam and Dean knew a few tricks of hiding themselves, and if they were lucky those two would never find them again. Keeping that in mind, he kept running.

Left, right, right, left, right. Above the sounds of falling rain Sam could hear the noise of cars and people becoming louder. He was getting close! He turned another corner, and there, at the end of the street, was the open road. He could see the black cabbies picking up the soaking wet pedestrians, people with black umbrellas who tried to get out of the rain. Even some people walking their dogs. Despite the bad weather it was busy on the street.

Good, that meant he would lose his stalker more easily and then he could try to find his way to the motel. He was already halfway through the street when suddenly the man in trench coat appeared in front of him, looking quite flustered but determent.

What? How could that guy suddenly be in front of him? Not having time to think about he quickly looked around to find a way around for an way to escape. There, to the left, another alleyway. He could either turn around and track his way back, or he could take his changes to the street to the left. Deciding that he hadn't seen any real good ways to shake the man in the streets he just had come from, he sprinted to the left. There his only option was to go right. Having no choice he charged around the corner...

Only to find it was a dead end.

'Shit.'

Sam turned around, but it was already too late. In the entrance of the alleyway stood the man in a trench coat. The only difference was that the man now held a gun, pointed right at his face. Immediately Sam raised his arms.

'Hey hey hey! Careful!' He said, and cursed the circumstances that forced him to leave his weapons in the US. Dean had smuggled a machete into the UK (He had borrowed some kind of magic white tape from Bobby and had taped the machete to his body. Sam had only found out when they were in the hotel and Dean started to undress to shower.) But besides that machete they didn't have any real weapons.

The man in front of didn't move an muscle. Only his eyes were moving. Looking at every inch of his body. Judging him, No, scanning him. Sam, on his turn, looked for a way out. The space between him and his attacker he could overlap in five steps. Too far, before he could reach the gun the man would've had plenty of time to pull the trigger, and a person being threatened was a lot more dangerous than a normal attacker, and Sam didn't want to deal with that now. He decided that his best shot was to intimidate the man, try to convince he had the wrong guy, and if that didn't work, then it would keep the man busy for a few seconds while Sam tried to formulate another plan.

'Sir, I don't know what you think is happening, but threatening an agent of -'

'You can drop the act now, I don't care about what story you and your brother have made up, I'm sure it's very nice, but I'm here for the truth.'

Sam was taken aback. How did that man know he and Dean were brothers? Could he read minds? Maybe he was a psycic? Those were very rare, but it wouldn't be impossible. Still, Sam didn't give in. It could be that the man was just geussing.

I don't know what you think is true, but I've shown you my badge and ID in the morning, and they don't lie.'

Sherlock cocked his head and reached with his free hand into the pocket while he said. 'Yes, that's true, expect, they do lie.'

And with that Sherlock pulled the ID and badge he had swiped earlier and tossed them on the ground before the man.

Sam lowered his hands without thinking. He reached into his pockets and realised that his ID and badge were gone, and were now lying on the wet floor in front of him. This was becoming worse and worse with every passing minute.

'They're good fakes, I have to admit that, but not good enough to fool me. They were made yesterday morning with Mark Michel, a man who works in the Victoria street. I know and recognize his work. So, let me ask again. Why. Are. You. Here?'

Sam swallowed and looked around him, still looking for a way out. Next to him was a fire escape. It was pretty high up, but maybe he could make it if he jumped.

'I wouldn't try that, I will shoot you before you even have finished your first step. I'm getting impatient.

Sam raised his hand slightly, showing that he intended no harm when he took a small step forward.

'Look, we don't want any trouble. We're just here to set something right, so if you just lower your gun, and let me go, nobody will get hurt.'

Sherlock didn't bother to supress his sigh.

'For the last time, I don't care if you want trouble or not. Why do show up here, wearing cheap suits, risking the chance of being caught and arrested for impersonating Interpol agents just to look at a regular murder case in London. Or maybe it isn't a normal murder case, but somebody from your little group of terrorist got murdered and you are just checking if it's true?'

Sam slowly shook his head. This was getting ridiculous.

'Wha... what are you talking about?'

Sherlock squinted. The man in front wasn't lying. He didn't know what Sherlock was talking about. So why did he want to check on the body so badly they risked serious consequences.

'Then pray tell me, why are you looking into the death of Kevin Thompson.'

'You wouldn't understand. Please, just let me go.'

Sam swallowed again, and started inching closer to the man that held him at gunpoint...

Pain exploded in his left shoulder even before he registerd the gun going off. Sam could only gasp at the almost agonizing feeling in his shoulder. For a second his vision became black. When his eyes focused again, he saw the man still standing in front of him, gun still smoking, it didn't look like he had even blinked.

This guy is nuts. Completely nuts. Sam thought as he grasped his shoulder. Immediately his hand started to turn red because of the blood.

Sherlock looked at the still gasping man in front of him. Sherlock cocked his head. The man had been shot before, that was clear. Because if he hadn't been shot before, the man now should be squirming on the floor in front of him. Instead, he was still standing there, he hadn't even screamed. Actually, the man didn't even look intimidated by him, or the fact that he had just been shot (Sherlock had been sure that the shot wound wouldn't have lasting effects) To be honest, he even looked like he was now ready to fight him. As soon as the man had grasped his shoulder, he had moved his feet slightly, making his center of mass lower to the ground and thus making him more difficult to knock over. So not only had the man was shot before, he had learned to fight while being severely wounded. This was getting more interesting and interesting with second. And Sherlock wanted answers.

He finally lowered his gun and moved closer to the wounded man, making sure he was still out of punching range.

'This is how it is. Within three minutes the police will arrive. We will both be arrested, but I can assure you, I will be out in less than fifteen minutes. But you won't. And with what I've seen, I even suspect you will come out ever again. Maybe it will take some time, but I'm sure we will find out exactly who you are. However, if you tell me now why you are here and who you are working for, then I will just tell everybody this was one big misunderstanding and we will both be -'

Sherlock had only a second to realize what was going on. His first clue was that the eyes of the man in front of him suddenly shot to the left as he looked at something that must've appeared behind him. The second clue was the low swishing sound of an object moving quickly through the air. Sherlock raised his arms as he started to turn around to defend himself, but it was already too late. The old rusted pipe connected with the side of his head. First, everything was white, and then everything turned black. He was unconcious before he hit the ground

Meanwhile, Sam looked with shock to Dean, who had just seemed to appear out of nowhere and was now bending over the lifeless body on the ground. The ringing sounds of the busted pipe falling on the ground echoed through the hallway when Dean dropped it

'That's what you get for shooting my brother, you frigging bitch.'

-o0o-

John wondered how long it would be before Sherlock would wake up. Because when that happened, all hell would break loose. He was now sitting next to the hospital bed, his friend was lying in. The heart monitor softly beeping with every heartbeat. He hadn't actually been the one to find Sherlock. John was still wandering through the alleyways, desperately trying to find a trail of the man he had been following. John had been pretty confident he wouldn't lose him. He knew the city better than the American, not as good as Sherlock, but still. However, he hadn't taken into account he still could be outrun. The man was younger, and apparently a lot more in shape than he was. And when the man infront of him realised that, he tried to find a route with the most obstacles, jumping fences and even trying to reach higher ground. John had lost him when he found himself in one of the shopping districts of London. It was swarming with people, and a man in suit fit in perfectly with the business men.

John had been looking for 10 minutes when he heard the faint sound of a gunshot. It had been 12 minutes when he heard the first sirens. It had been 20 minutes when his phone rang.

Long story short. Sherlock had been found unconscious in an alleyway with a head injury. Next to him they had found an empty bullet shell and a few steps away from him there laid a small puddle of blood. It seemed like Sherlock had been involved in a shooting incident but had been overpowerd and knocked out. From the victim and gun there had been no trace.

-o-o-o-

John snapped awake. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but it seemed like he had. While his eyes started to focus he wondered what that annoying sound was. Then it hit him. It was the monotone tone of he hearthmonotor, warning that there was no hearthbeat.

'SHERLOCK!'

John jumped up from his chair. Immediatly awake. But... the hospital bed was empty. John frowned. That didn't seem right. Looking around the room he saw that nobody besideds him was in it. It was a rather somber sight. The room was only occupied with the hospital bed and equipment, two chairs, a very small table and a television so old tha it would suprise him if it could show programs in any other colour than black and white.

John quickly grabbed his jacket from where he had tossed it on the table and marched out of the room. If Sherlock was awake, then trouble couldn't be far away.

He didn't have to go far to find Sherlock. To be honest, he only needed to turn the corner to see his friend being in a heated arugment with a doctor and two nurses. Already wearing his trademark trenchcoat and blue scarf. Besides looking a little pale and the a huge white plaster on right side of his head he seemed fine, but John knew better. Head injuries were very dangerous and painful.

'I don't know what you don't seem to understand. I .Am. Fine. And I have time to wait and sit around untill you realise that I am right.'

The doctor, who seemed to be the most calm of the whole bunch, gestured with his hand in a soothing manner.

'Sir, untill we have done some tests, you aren't able to leave. You was knocked unconcious for nearly two hours. It's actually a miracle you can stand right now! and besides that, you were in a shooting incident, which means the police wants to talk to you first before you can even leave.'

This seemed a good time to intervene. He stepped forward, and with a demanding voice he asked.

'Sherlock, what's going on?'

Sherlock quickly turned, but flinched in pain. Too fast. John frowned. That wasn't a good sign. Sherlock ignored the suspicous look on his friends face. He hadn't time for this.

'John! Good that you're awake, we have to go, now.'

Wanting to head towards the excit he turned around again, only to find his way blocked by the doktor and his team of nurses. Sherlock had a hard time not to scream He reallly, really hadn't time for this.

'I have to ask, sir, you are aware that you suffer-'

'from a serious head injury, heavy concussed, possible brain injury, and a open wound. All inflicted by a heavy blunt weapon. Yes, yes, I am aware. But I need to go. Now.

Sherlock only barely managed not to shout those words. Truth to be told, he wasn't even half as 'fine' as he told the doktor. He was dizzy, had a splitting headache, nauseous (He had already vommited when waking, how he hadn't awoken John he didnt know) but he already lost two hours. And his prey were getting away with every passing second. He had no time lose.

The doctor too, started to frown. Why wouldn't this man listen himself? He had been injured badly, and trying to even get out of bed would risk injuring himself even more, let alone leaving the hospital! How the man had even managed to dress himself was beyond his imagination.

'If you have talked with the police, and if you have a paper of approvel from your assigned doctor, then you may leave.'

'Well, I have already have a personal doctor.' Motoining towards a suprised John. 'And he will accompy me to make sure I don't drop death. Happy?'

The doctor was taken aback, his frown was now pointed towards John.

'You're a doctor?'

'uhm, well, technically, yes.' John stutterd.

Sherlock continued. 'The police won't be a problem, if they ask for me then you can give them this,' He handed the doctor Lestrade's business card, trusting the detective would cover for him, atleast, for a short time.

Sherlock flashed a short smile a clasped his hands together.

'Well, gladd that's is settled then.'

And without waiting for a response he shoved the doctor aside and marched towards he exit. John could only follow.

The doctor watched as the two left the hospital. He shook his head. That guy had hit his head real hard if he thought he could last a day without collapsing. Looking towards his clipboard he continued with his work and started to make his way to the next patient.

Outside, Sherlock looked around. It had stopped raining, but the clouds hadn't gone away and were still dark as ever. He wondered what he could do next. Now those two fake agents knew that their cover had been blown, Sherlock doubted that they would be stupid enough to try and use their Interpol passes agian. It was even possible that they would try and leave the country as fast as they could. But if they tried that, Sherlock would know. He had alerted his network and asked some favours of people who were in his debt. But again, Sherlock doubted they would leave the country. The man he had shot said that they were here to set something right, and he didn't look like a person who would leave before the job was done. No matter how dangerous it would get.

The man was wounded, his wounds needed stitching. It could be that they had tried to get help in a hospital. Lestrade could help him finding if to man matching his description checked into a hospital into the city. It was a good place to start.

Meanwhile, John stood next to Sherlock. Looking a little worried. He hadn't actually checked Sherlock's injuries himself. He had trusted the doctors and hadn't expected that Sherlock would rush out the of hospital the second he was awake. He had expected he'd try it, but not that he actually would succeed at it. Ofcourse, he should've known better.

Suddenly, John's phone rang. He grabbed it out of his pocket and looked at the litt up screen to read the name.

'Greg Lestrade'

Wondering about what Lestrade could call him he accepted the call and put the phone besides his ear.

'Hello, John speaking.'

'Hey, John, how's Sherlock?' Lestrade answered

John glanced at Sherlock, who seemed to be lost in thought completly.

'Well, he's awake now. But I'm not sure if that is a good thing. He is already out on the street, god knows why.

There was a moment of silence then a sigh.

'Doesn't that man know how to take care of himself?'

John huffed.

'Ofcouse he doesn't , but why you calling? Just to check on Sherlock or...'

'Well, actually, I wanted to tell you something. You know that man we found death yesterday night?'

'uhu, yes.' John confirmed.

'Well, this morning we've send out some requets to a few locations, asking if they had seen a man that matched the description of our murder victim, that they would notify us. I hadn't expected a response, but some archive send us security footage, and that man is actually on it. I thought I let you know before me and my team will go and check it out.

John was somewhat suprised.

'Some archive? Do you have any idea why he would visit an archive?'

'Well, I was hoping you and Sherlock could find out.' Lestrade said somewhat sheepish.

'Uhm, Sure Lestrade, i'll-'

Sherlock suddenly appeared to come be back in the present as he quickly looked to John.

'Lestrade, is that Lestrade?!'

Before John could even start to answer Sherlock snatched the phone from John's hand and put it besides his ear.

'Lestrade, I need you too-'

'Sherlock, is that you? What happend to John? Are you alright?'

Sherlock hissed at the loud voice, and cursed the guy that had caused his head injury. When he caught him, he would make sure he repay the favour. Putting a little more distance between the phone and his ear he started to speak again.

'Yes, yes, yes, I'm fine, John is fine, everybody is fine. But I need you too...'

John looked as Sherlock demanded that Lestrade would check every hospital in London for the two men that had escaped him earlier. After a few seconds his eyes litt up. Lestrade must've told him about the security footage. Saying a short goodbye he ended the call and handed the phone back to John, and smiled, the dangerous look in his eyes returned.

'It seems like we have work to do.'

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN TAN TAN...
> 
> Feel free to leave a review, PM me, write a letter, send a carrier pigeon, I love those :D And ofcoure, thanks again to everyone that left a message for the last chapters :3
> 
> That was a biggie! I'll be back within a week with chapter 6 :3


	6. Greedo shot first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I posted these things in the right order... Only this chapter and I'm of to bed! Next chapter will be posted on Monday or Tuesday.... If I don't forget atleast... God it's late
> 
> And we're back, one day early in fact!
> 
> Disclaimer: I only own Kevin! But he's kinda death soooo...
> 
> Beta Reader: None! And have realised that the Ginger page app is kinda shit... Sooo beware for the mistakes!
> 
> Note: I'm dyslectic and dutch, so English is not my strongest point. Don't be afraid to point out any mistakes!
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: DEAN SAYS SOME NAUGHTY CURSE WORDS

The Taxi stopped before the British Museum. It had appeared that Kevin hadn't actually gone to one of London's archives that was open for public, but the private collection of the British Museum. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder who that man really was. At first, Sherlock had suspected the man of being a part of the mafia or cult. But why would those be interested in the British Museum archives? To steal valuable objects and sell on the black market? Maybe a person high up in the illegal food chain wanted a special artifact to decorate their house with? He didn't know now, but Sherlock was sure he would find out. Because he wasn't the worlds best (and only, however, he decided not to think about that) consulting detective.

Sherlock ignored the tourists who stood in line for the museum as he strode past them. He hadn't the time to wait. He was pretty sure that most of the people would agree that a murder case was more important than their boring, ordinary family trip and besides that, he really didn't want to stand in line for at least an hour with a severe concussion.

He looked behind him and saw that John had just finished paying the cabbie driver. He waited impatiently while his shorter companion caught up with him.

'Next time, you're paying.' Was the only thing the blogger said. But Sherlock could see the worry in his eyes. John clearly didn't approve of his escape from the hospital, but he knew that there was little he could do to stop him, so he had decided that the best thing he could do was to follow his wounded friend and look out for him, and if he could, preventing him of even injuring himself even further. And secretly, Sherlock was glad to know that he did just that.

When they were inside it wasn't hard to find the place they needed to be. The conveniently placed waypoints helped a lot. After a few corridors and hallways they were in the security room, which was guarded by a guy who looked a lot less easy to crack than the guard from the hospital security, but everyone had a weakness, and it was Sherlock's specialist to find out which was his. He started his observation.

The man was in his late thirties, but took very good care of him and is body. He did a full body workout at least three times a week. He jogged everyday in the morning and the judging from the development of certain muscle groups the man was also a kickbokser, practicing at least twice a week. Overpowering the man was no option. Sherlock started looking for other weak spots.

The man was married, the gold band on his ring finger didn't lie about that. The man was married to a female with the same age. On the man's pants was an almost invisible print of a small hand, from where a small kid with sticky hands had clung to his legs this morning. So the man wasn't only married, he had a family with at least one kid. And a dog, Sherlock added, an old white terrier. It hadn't been the man's dog, (he would never buy a dog smaller than a toddler) so that meant that it had been the wife's. Concluding; Happy is boring little family. No obvious weak spots there. He had to go deeper. Next Sherlock focused on the man's stance. He stood with a straight back, already eyeing them as Sherlock and John walked towards him. He took his job serious and wouldn't abandon his post without making sure that the entrance was secured so people like him and John couldn't sneak in. He had worked in security, all of his life, and had made few mistakes. Sherlock realized he found the kink in the man's armor.

How do impress a security guard? Authority. Security was a placed low in the power pyramid of a corporation, their job was simply to guard the things that needed guarding, and listening to the commands superiors gave them and perform given task. Confident his plan was solid Sherlock overbridged the last few steps between him and the guard and reached for the door handle. Of course, he was stopped by the guard, which blocked the door with his body.

'Sir, what exactly do you think you're doing? This area isn't open for visitation.'

John really wanted to ask the same question, but he was sure he would find out eventually. He only needed to watch and wait.

Sherlock looked annoyed.

'I'm here for the investigation, so if you could let us pass, that would be great.' He said with a blatant fake smile as he reached for the door handle a second time. But again, he was stopped by the guard.

'I'm sorry, I think you're mistaken, this is the security room, the research area is on the other side of the museum.'

Sherlock sighed, and John doubted it was fully acted.

'The murder investigation, you were informed of my coming, right?'

'I wasn't informed of anything.' The man said, not budging an inch

Sherlock sighed again and reached deep in his pockets.

'Stupid London police department, can't even get an appointment right...' He grumbled

Apparently finding what he had been looking for Sherlock pulled his hand out of his pocket again, only to reveal the ID pass and badge he had stolen from the man in the morgue.

'Bobby Singer, Interpol, here for murder investigations.' Sherlock simply said.'And he,' motioning towards John, 'is with me.'

After seeing the ID and badge the man immediately changed attitude and quickly stepped aside.

'I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know, of course you may enter, sorry for the inconvenience.'

Before he had even finished talking Sherlock already stepped through the door. John noticed that this room was much bigger than the one in the hospital (just like the guard) every monitor showed a different room of the museum, every one of them loaded with people, some even showed the same room from different angles. But the security room wasn't empty, two other guards sat in chairs and looked rather startled by the two men who suddenly entered, shortly followed by the other guard. They both looked a lot less muscled than the man that had stood outside, one was blond and the other had dark hair. The blond one was unmarried, no children and a slight alcohol problem. The dark haired one was a lot younger and had a girlfriend, just moved in together. This time Sherlock didn't wait and immediately showed his ID and badge.

'Bobby Singer, Interpol.' As he put the badge and ID away again, he stepped even further into the room.

'I need to see the security footage that was sent to the London police department this morning.'

Overcoming his shock the blond man rose from his chair.

'I'm sorry, but what does the Interpol have anything with us? And by the way, the last time I checked, you needed a appointment if you wanted to see our security tapes.'

Before Sherlock could answer help came from an unlikly source, the guard that followed them inside stepped forward.

'They did have an apointment, but something must've gone wrong. But Tim, we shouldn't bother them, they're here for a murder investigation.'

Sherlock could see the suspicion in Tim's eyes, but he couldn't blame him. It was, after all, his job to be suspicous. But that didn't make it less irritating.

'If you need that footage so badly, then why couldn't you just watch them at the Police department?'

'Well, if you and your team had actually send us the correct files instead of some corrupted footage, I could have.' Sherlock said without blinking

Tim squinted, but eventually he nodded.

'Okay, hold on a second.'

-o-o-o-

Half an hour later John and Sherlock were alone in one of the empty offices close to the security room. Sherlock was focussing on the screen, looking for clues which John couldn't possible even pinpoint as 'a little strange'. After the first fifteen minutes John started to get bored. Sherlock didn't offer any amusment, he was as stone, how he sad there. John wasn't even sure if Sherlock had blinked in the last few minutes.

'There.'

The sudden spoken words startled John, and he saw Sherlock pointing towards the computer screen. The still screen showed a neatly clothed man talking to one of the secretaries. He didn't look any different than the other persons on the screen.

'What?'

Sherlock finally tore his eyes away from the screen and looked at John with a slightly annoyed look on his face. Wasn't it obvious?

Seeing that John really didn't know what he had been talking about, Sherlock rewinded a the tape a few seconds.

'Look at the man walking towards the secretaries.'

Sherlock pressed play and the film started moving. John followed the man on screen, he walked a few steps, then he stopped and reajusted his collar before setting his final steps towards the desk.

John raised a questioning eyebrow as he looked at Sherlock again.

'Uhm, what was I supposed to see, Sherlock?'

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. Tapping a few keys on the keyboard he rewinded the video again and stopped it on the exact moment the man started adjusting his collar. Sherlock tapped a few buttons again and the video started playing again, this time in slomo.

'Look at his neck.' Sherlock simply said.

And this time John saw what his friend had been hinting at. There, a few seconds visible as the man adjusted his collar, was the head of a snake on the man's neck.

'The snake tattoo, this is the man that we're looking, right?'

Sherlock nodded.

'Exactly, and now we need to find out why he was here.' and with that, Sherlock sprang out of his chair and walked towards the door. He knew a good place to start looking.

Several minutes later the odd pair stood infront of the desk that the had been observing on the screen mere moments earlier. Luckely for them, the same darkhaired woman they had seen in the footage sat behind the desk. She smiled politly as Sherlock and John stepped forward.

'Hello and welcome to the research department of the British museum, how may I help you?' she said, with a too happy voice to be serious.

Sherlock swiftly grabbed the ID and badge from his pocket.

'Bobby Singer, Interpol. I'm here for a case and I need to know why this man...' He switched the ID and badge for his mobile and opened a photo he had taken of the screen earliier '... was here.'

'oh.'

She clearly was taken aback. Even John saw that. It wasn't everyday an international agent suddenly appeared infront of you, demanding information.

'Uhm... I think I remember him, he was here to look at some files... He had an appointment... I think... no no, I know he was here for that. But I don't know which files, you'll have to ask my colleague for that.' While she was talking, she turned around and motoined towards another woman behind her, asking her to come over. The woman was dressed the same way as the woman they were talking too, she wore a the woman's suit with skirt and highheels. Her blond hair long loose around her shoulders, opposite of the other female employees, who all had their hair thightly gathered in a bun. With the same fake smile the other assistent had shown earlier she walked over. And in those few seconds, Sherlock noticed a lot about her.

She lived alone, wasn't married and didn't have a boyfriend. However, she did have a cat, several to be exact. Altough she had tried clean herself from the cat hairs, some still clung to her skirt. She was pretty enough to have a boyfriend, so she was single by choice. She wasn't religous and wore a bracelet, engraved with greek writing.. Her hair was lose, that meant she was little wilder than her colleugeus, Eventough she didn't want a boyfriend, that didn't mean she wasn't man hunting. She probably went to the pub several times a week, trying to find someone to share her bed with for the night, and judging from the glint in her eyes, she succeeded most of the time.

'Gentlemen, what can I do for you?' She said as she stopped before them.

But before Sherlock could answer, the woman behind the desk said. 'Uhm, Jeanine, these man are from the Interpol, they're here uhm, for this man you helped last week.'

The woman, now revealed to be named Jeanine, flashed a look at the two man before her. And raised an eyebrow.

'Agents he? Well, what you can I do for you, Agents?' She said, emphasizing the last 'agents'.

Sherlock resisted the urge to frown. The woman didn't believe him, eventough the rest of people did. Now, why wouldn't she believe him? Was it because he wasn't dressed as a agent? was it because of the bandage on his head? What made her different from the others? However, Sherlock decided to ignore her for the moment, they had more pressing matters at hand.

'We would like to see the files for which this man...' He again showed the picture. '... payed you a visit.'

Jeanine flashed a smile, showing her snow white teeth.

'But of course, follow me.'

And with that, she walked away from them, expecting them to follow. Sherlock and John shared a look, to which John shrugged and indicated Sherlock should lead the way. The two followed the lady through the several corriddors, after a while she stopped before a door which read.

RESEARCH AREA, NO ADMITTANCE

She reached towards the door handle, but stopped at the last moment. From where Sherlock stood he could see a mischievous smile appear on her face, immidiatly he was on guard. There was no possible way the lady could overpower him and John, but that didn't mean she hadn't other tricks up her sleeve. John, on the other hand, didn't appear to notice anything.

She turned around to face the two and clapsed her hands together.

'Now, before I show you the way, would you please answer my question first?'

Sherlock squinted. Whatever she wanted to do, he didn't plan on playing along?

'Miss, we have little time, this case requires my attention more than your qeustions, and as an agent-'

Her eyes litt up and she raised her finger.

'But here's the catch! You two aren't agents isn't that so, Sherlock?'

Sherlock didn't answer, all his gears in his head working. How did she know who he was? It would be a lot easier to concentrate if his head didn't hurt so much...

However, before he think of a response, John answered.

'Wait, how do you know who he is?'

She smiled.

'I'm a huge fan of your blog, study in pink? I loved that one!'

Sherlock could have slammed his head in the wall. Stupid John with his stupid blog, this had blown his whole cover!'

She continued talking.

'I'm actually not allowed to let you two enter, but I'm willing to make an exception, but only if you answer my question.'

Eventually, Sherlock nodded, if she wanted to play it that way, fine.

She smiled and opened her mouth to speak.

'The commonest of soldiers where rival armies meet; He'll lead the charge or hold the line, and never will he retreat.'

Sherlock for a second didn't know what she was talking about and then it hit him. It was a riddle, she wanted him to solve a riddle. Oh how Sherlock hated riddles, they were illogical, vague on purpose and could mean anything. There was no right way to tackeling the problem of a riddle. Sherlock dispised them for that.

Next to him, John's head made over hours. When he was in the army, he and his mates told each other riddles all the time as a way to pass time. It took him a moment, but then he answered.

'A Pawn.'

The lady shifted her focus from Sherlock to John, her eyes a little opened wider. She hadn't expected that it was the sidekick that would solve her riddle.

John shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, but then he started explaining.

'You know, because in chess a pawn can only move forwards, not backwards. They can be vital when defending the King and are the most in number on a chessboard.'

She slowly nodded. 'Very well, very well...'

She turned her head to Sherlock again. 'Now only you need to answer one of my riddles.' And she started speaking again.

'I make you weak at-'

'No.' Sherlock interuppeted her, he was tired of her little game and that clearly showed. His head hurt to much to deal with another riddle. 'You said qeustion, as in, singular. John, answered your riddle. Now, open that door or I'll make you open it.' He threathend darkly.

For a moment Sherlock and the lady locked eyes, neither one moving. Then the lady smiled and turned her head away.

'As you wish...' And she opened the door.

-~o0o~-

'I should've killed the son of a bitch.' Dean growled as Sam flinched under his touch. They were back in the motel where they had set up their wasn't the best motel they had visited al those years, it wasn't the worst either. But that didn't mean anything, because the two hunters had visited loads of motels which contained more roaches than the whole city contained people.

Dean had managed to sneak them both in without anybody noticing Sam's bloodied shirt. Atleast, he hoped that nobody had noticed them. Dean had given his jacket to Sam and they had ditched the bloodied one somewhere in a trashcan. It hadn't been an easy trip home, but they've made it. And now it was Dean's job to patch his little brother up.

Luckily for them, the wound wasn't big and it didn't look like there would be any lasting effects. But that didn't mean it hurt any less.

Sam couldn't supress a hiss when Dean tightend the bandage. Dean grumbled again: 'Oh, if I ever see that man again I will-'

'Dean, let it go, if we're lucky we never see the guy again. It's just an detective gone rogue, that's all.''

Dean straightned his back and couldn't help but throw his hands in the air.

'Let it go?! Sam, that dude Han Soloed your ass out of nowhere. If anything, we be doing te people a favour if we gank this psycho!'

Sam huffed and tested the restrain of his bandage.

'Greedo shot first, you know' He said after a few seconds.

'What?' Dean was thrown off by the Sam's comment. That wasn't the answer he expected.

'Well, George Lucas didn't approve of-'

'Geez Sam, you're such a nerd.' Dean sighed as he stood up and walked towards the fridge.

Sam, coming to the conclusion that Dean had applied the bandages correctly, grabbed an T-shirt laying on the bed and, with some trouble, pulled it over his head. His eyes trailed Dean as he finally found the beer and closed the fridge again. After he used the sad excuse of a kitchen counter to open the beer, he took a big swig and looked at a his little brother.

Dean continued: 'Sam, even you should understand that shooting people in alleyways isn't right, we could atleast try to tip the police you know, make sure they catch this guy.'

Sam frowned: 'Well, here's the thing... After he shot me, he said that he would be walking free the same day... And he sounded pretty sure.'

Dean eyebrows shot into the air.

'Wait, you mean to tell me this guy works with the cops? Jezus, either way England is even more fucked up than I tought, or he's really crazy. And I mean crazier than he already was.'

'Well, if we just avoid attention we should be fine...' Sam answered rather hesitantly. He didn't know what it was, but he doubted that the man in trenchcoat give up that easily, it was something in his eyes. That man had guessed correctly he and Dean were brothers, he had even managed to identify his ID as fake. Sam was pretty sure that this wasn't an ordinary crazy which they were dealing with, this man was way to smart for that. But Dean didn't want to listen, saying that this man was just a creep like anyother he and Dad had encounterd.

'And if we find that guy I'll make sure that that head injury will be the least of his worries.' Dean growled darkly. Something told Sam that Dean wouldn't let this slide so easily. However, before Sam could answer Dean's phone went off and the tunes of Smoke on the Water filled the room.

Dean grabbed his phone and flipped it open.

' 'Ello?'

The gruff voice of Bobby answered.

'What ya find in the motel? Already know what offed Kevin?'

Dean placed his beer on the kitchen counter and brushed his hand through his hair and ignored Sam's curious look.

'Well, Hello to you too Bobby. And for the matter of fact; No, we didn't find the motel, we ehh, got kinda distracted on the way there.'

Dean could hear Bobby huff through the phone.

'Now, pray tell me, what could've possible distracted you two?'

'Well, I long story short, Sam got shot.'

There was a moment of silence, then a sigh.

'Only you two idjits can manage getting shot in a place where you aren't even allowed to bear arms. But if Sam was hurt badly, you'd tell me the minute I called you, so I figure he's okay for now. Tell me what happend, the whole story.'

So Dean told him, about the two man in the morgue, how they had acted so weirdly,

that Dean had spotted the two some time later on the streets, and how they had split up to shake the two.

'... And so this guy has cornerd Sam and starts threathening him, saying that he knows the ID's are fake and stuff. Sam, ofcourse, didn't tell the truth and tries the get closer so he can disarm him, but this trenchcoat just straight up shoots him! When I was-'

Bobby interupped him. 'Wait wait wait, you say trenchcoat? Like, he wore a long dark trenchcoat?'

Dean frowned.

'Uhh, yeah, but Bobby i don't see why-'

'Did he wear a blue scarf? and his companion was shorter than him, blond hair?'

'Uhh, blue scarf and his companion was short and blond?' Dean repeated, looking to Sam for confirmation. Sam narrowed his eyes shortly, but then nodded.

'Yes, I believe he had a short blond companion and blue scarf...? But Bobby, how do you even know this?'

Dean could hear Bobby groan on the other side.

'Balls.'

Dean was getting annoyed now.

'What you mean, 'balls?' Is he like the king of England or something like that? I'm kind of shooting in dark right now Bobby, you know this guy?'

'That 'guy' is Sherlock Holmes you Idjit. And that fella isn't known for playing nice, he's the guy the London police department call when they can't figure out how somebody was ganked. And if he thinks you two and Kevin were connected in someway, then he won't stop untill he has found you both.'

'What? Bobby how do you even know this stuff?'

For the second time that phone call, Dean could hear Bobby sigh.

'The shorter one's named John Watson, he writes about what the two are up to on this blog, most of the times solving murders, I read it once when was doing some research for a job, the two have handled an simulair case, only this time it wasn't a werewolf but just a wild dog.'

'So they're like Batman and Robin?'

'If you wanna call them that, fine, but you gotta take these guys serious. If they manage to catch you, then they won't stop untill you spill all of your secrets, and I mean everything. So if you wanna avoid that, you two better keep your head down.'

'Yeah, we will watch our tails, can you in the meanwhile try and find some dirt on this guys? or anything for the matter?'

'I'm on it, just you boys make sure you don't get shot agian, will ya?' And with that, Bobby hung up.

Dean flipped his phone shut again and put it safely away again in his pocket, he replaced his mobile with his unfinshed beer. Only to see Sam looking at him with a raised eyebow.

'Batman and Robin?'

'Yeah, turns out these two are like a crazy detective duo who solve murders and crimes for fun, seems like we're on their radar because they think Kevin and us are connected.

Dean shrugged and glanced at his beer, he couldn't say they were wrong. He continued.

'Bobby says the two can be a pain in the ass, but I'm sure we can take them on.'

'But he said it be better if we just avoid them.'

'Maybe.

'Dean.'

'Sammy.'

'Dean!'

'Fine!' Dean threw his arms up in defeat. 'We'll go Kevin's motel and finish the job, and after that we can deal with those two.' And with that Dean, finished his beer and grabbed his leather jacket from his bed and while walking towards he door, he made sure that the gun he had stolen from the trenchcoat earlier was in his pocket. Sam just rolled his eyes and followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pfweh! Long Chapter, lot of Sherlock. However, next chapter will have double Dean and Sam, promise! They're gonna kick some butt!
> 
> Again, thanks to all the people that followed, favorited and reviewed this story! Your awesome :)
> 
> If you have any qeustions, feel free to PM me or review me.
> 
> For those who wondered, this is the riddle Jeanine wanted to ask Sherlock:
> 
> 'I make you weak at the worst of times, I keep you safe, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat, and your hearth grow cold, I visit the weak, but seldom the bold.'
> 
> You know the answer? Leave it in a review, first to get it rights gets a cookie :3
> 
> All of the last chapters were uploaded on this site veryyyy early in the morning, so I expect I f**ed up somewhere, sorry if I did! As I said before, next chap will be here on Monday or Tuesday, and from then on the story will be updated weekly.
> 
> Love you guys, party on and I'm going to bed


	7. 113, 113

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this story so far, you guys rock!  
> Disclaimer: I only own the plot  
> Note: dutchie and dyslectic, so beware the mistakes!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: DEAN SWEARS A LOT, LIKE, A LOT. ALSO MENTIONS OF PORN

Sherlock followed the lady to the closed of parts of the museum. Three different footsteps echoed against the walls. First, the loud clacking of the lady's high heels, second, Sherlocks heavy steps of his black leather shoes, and third, John soft steps of someone whose live once depended on his ability to walk without sound. They passed several closed doors, each locked, secured and impossible to enter without a pass and code. They encountered nobody else in the bland corridors. Eventually, Jeanine stopped for a door that looked more used than the others. When reaching into her pocket the rattling sound of keys could be heard and after a few seconds she produced her security pass out of her pocket. She quickly swiped it through the security system in the wall and pressed four of the number buttons on the wall. (2-4-7-1, easy enough for Sherlock to figure out) after that a long loud buzzing sound could be heard, indicating that the door was open. She turned slightly and smiled a mischievous smile towards Sherlock.

'After you.' she said, motioning gracefully towards the room.

Sherlock cocked his head, but then nodded. This woman was probably just flirting. He had been told he was attractive by several people and as he had noticed earlier, this women spend most of her free time chasing after men. She wasn't unattractive herself, but for the moment Sherlock didn't think it would be necessary to answer or acknowledge her flirtations, that, until the woman proved to have more information he needed to acquire.

He entered the room and was immediately greeted by dozens and dozens of shelves and cabinets. Each one full with boxes which seemed to be loaded with files and maps containing photo's. After him, John entered the room and let out a soft whistle.

'That are a lot of boxes...' And Sherlock had to suppress the urge to comment on his companions obvious statement

'These.' the lady had followed them into the room. 'are copies and photo's of every Egyptian artifact ever to enter the British museum, along with some research papers of well-known professors who have worked along with us. Professor William wanted access to them, for personal research.'

Professor William, that must the cover Kevin used when he contacted the museum. But Sherlock noticed they way she said the name, almost the same way she had said 'agents' earlier. This lady was smart, could read people to a certain degree. Obviously she had doubted this William as much as she doubted them, but still, she had been forced to give them access. Just like she was forced to give them access now...

To his surprise, it was John who asked the question he wanted to ask.

'Do you maybe know which one of the boxes he picked to study? I mean, there are a lot to pick from...'

She looked and smiled at John the same way a teacher smiles to the annoying and failing student who comes and beg for a second chance, just before they have the pleasure to say 'no' and watch the hope die in the kids eyes.

'No'

She'd make a great teacher.

She turned to Sherlock again, and the sweet smile returned. Something was off, but his headache made it difficult to concentrate, let alone win an argument with the woman before him. He made a mental note to confront her another time, when his head didn't feel like it had some moron had used it as a pinata.

'I have to ask you to finish your research before closing time, that's in three and a half hour. You have to understand I can't let you alone in the national British Museum, you know. I'll check up on you every so often, tarah*.'

And with that, she left the room. Leaving the consulting detective and blogger alone to start the almost impossible job figuring out what Kevin had been researching. But of course, Sherlock wouldn't be Sherlock if he hadn't already have a plan.

He walked towards the closest shelves and ran his finger across the wood. When he looked at his fingertips, they were dark from dust and filth. It was clear that these the cleaners skipped the shelves when doing their job, and that was just what Sherlock needed.

John, who had curiously watched Sherlock work and had seen Sherlock had already a plan, asked him: 'What are we looking for?'

Sherlock motioned him to come closer and showed him the trace his finger had left on the shelf.

'These aren't cleaned very well, so if somebody grabs a box of one of the shelves, then they are bound to leave traces. If you go past those rows of shelves and look for missing dust. if you find a place with such traces, grab the closest box. We'll gather them there, at that table.' He said pointing at a table with a few chairs John hadn't noticed earlier. The table looked like it should've been replaced two centuries ago, he chairs didn't look any better.

Without further ado, Sherlock disappeared between the unending rows of shelves, leaving John to do the same.

-o-o-o-

It had been 1 hour and 52 minutes, and nothing made any sense. This wasn't the most curious case Sherlock had worked (, yet). But it was in the top fifteen for sure. Sherlock started to list the facts of the case, for the 14 time in these two hours, trying to find an answer.

1\. Yesterday evening: Man found death, cause of death: Missing several body parts, making the victim unable to breath. The man had several items with him that made him a suspect of being member of American street gang.

2\. Early this morning: Man appears to be attacked by a feline as well as a man. Two men enter pretending to be agents and insist on looking at the body, alone. It seemed at first they were doing an autopsy, but then they recognized the victim, leaving Sherlock to wonder if they hadn't known all along.

3: Close to midday: The two man flee the scene with important evidence. One wouldn't even say anything despite being under threat of a weapon. The other man, had knocked him out and stolen his gun, fleeing the scene successfully, however, they had forgotten their false ID. So weapons were more important for them than their ID.

4\. Around three a clock: I leave the hospital wounded, not at my fullest capacity. Man who has been found death appeared to have visited the British museum archives before death, doing some kind of research.

5: Now ( around five a clock) : Man who died appears to have studied Egyptian history, either their architecture, their religion or their lore, and that was neither the act of somebody who is part of a mafia gang nor of somebody who knows their going to die soon.

Sherlock and John had found several boxes that were removed from the shelves. But that didn't mean that they had been removed by Kevin. Sherlock could deduct when the boxes had been removed, so he had instructed John to leave the boxes that were removed atleast a month ago standing (Look John, if the dust is this thick, then you can leave them be.) But he had seen on the tape that Kevin hadn't been the only one to visit the archive. So, Sherlock had narrowed the boxes which Kevin could have looked at down significantly, but not enough.

So now Sherlock and John had spent nearly two hours reading about Egyptian history, a history was something that neither John nor Sherlock found very intersting. And they still had atleast three boxes left to look at and read through. Still, Sherlock wouldn't give in. If he had learned anything from his years on the field, then was it that wwhen you didn't expect to find evidence in a place, that that the place was you would crack the case. So Sherlock didn't stop, and flipped another page.

-~o0o~-

Dean was happy to be outside. Although he had spent most of the morning outside, he wouldn't call being chased down, and after that hauling your shot brother back to the motel a relaxing time. And he didn't have to wear de damn suit. Of course, being the professional he was, he endured and wore them without complaint (Sam would claim otherwise) But that didn't mean he liked them, he was far more comfortable in his old pair of jeans and leather jacket.

The two brothers had decided to walk towards Kevin's motel. It wasn't too far of away, and this way they didn't have to sit in a taxi in awkward silence, or even worse, steal a car in broad daylight. He glanced towards his brother. It wasn't like Sammy hadn't been shot before, but it was his responsibility to worry about his younger brother. Sam seemed to manage himself quite well. The only difference Dean could see was that he didn't swing with his left arm as much, probably because of the bandage. His brother had also lost some blood, more than Dean had completely been comfortable with. But Sam had assured him that going to the hospital was uncalled for, and after shortly hesitating, Dean had trusted him. And it seemed Sam had been right, his vision didn't fail him and he didn't get a headache. He only looked slightly paler than usual.

To be honest, he was pretty sure that this 'Sherlock' guy (Stupidest name ever) had been te one to suffer the most damage out of this whole ordeal. Dean made sure to hit him as hard as he could, no doubt causing some serious damage. And rightly so, Dean thought darkly, that guy was number 2 on his priorty list. Friend of the cops or not, shooting his brother wasn't something you'd get away with. He'd promised himself to pay the man a visit and give him a taste of his own medicine before they'd left the country.

'Watcha thinking about?' Sam's voice pulled Dean out of his gruesome thoughts. Besides him, Dean saw his brother looking at him with one eyebrow slightly raised. The two brothers were in the more quiet part of London and it wasn't very busy, so he didn't have to lower his voice when talking business.

'Nothing, just wondering what we'll find once we get there.' Dean lied, when Sam didn't lower his goddamn eyebrow he continued.

'You know, maybe he found something that triggered the thing he got killed by. Or, he when was doing research he found something but the thing ganked him before he could gank him?'

'Well, if that's the case then he must've found something right? Because if Kevin's death and the death's I found online are connected, then it would be a very odd coincidence that something randomly picked Kevin out of 8.6 million people.' Sam said.

Dean nodded almost unnoticeable, glad that Sam had lowered his eyebrow. But what Sam had said made him wonder.

'What if it kills hunters on purpose? Like, those other people you found were hunters too?'

After a few seconds of thinking, Sam answered.

'You could be right... But you have to be a pretty badass monster if you can kill that many hunters... And I don't know, but from the first look those vics just didn't look like hunters to me... I'll check later tonight if I can find something that inducates they were hunters, but I doubt I'll find anything.' Sam came to a halt and grabbed the piece of paper on which he had writen down the address of the motel out of his pocket. Comparing the address of the building before him and the one he had written down he said.

'Whatever it is, we'll find out soon enough. This is it.'

The building in front of them looked just as bright and cheerful as the morgue they had visited that morning. Just above the vacancy sign was the name of the motel in neon lights. It was supposed to say Blue owl Joby's Motel, however, the letter were either dark or flickering. Making it look like the name of the motel was Blow Joby's Motel. And for Dean, that was to close to being Blowjobs Motel to not be funny.

Still sniffling he said: 'Yeah, seems like a place a hunter would settle for a couple of days.'

'Lets see what Kevin was up to before he was killed.' Sam said, and entered the motel.

-o-o-o-

It had been easy to get past the reception. The man handling the new guests looked like it had spent its evening fighting with several alligators, that, or he was just massive hangover. Sam and Dean looked around in the reception area. If the rest of the motel looked anything like it, then it didn't promise anything good. The sofa that stood cramped in the corner had springs popping out in more than one place and the chairs looked like the first everKing of England had used Sam was sure that the wooden floor must be a victim of termites and on the ceiling he could spot several places where water damage had left it mark. The tapestry was peeling of on one of the walls. To put it short, it didn't look like a five-star hotel.

'Hello and welcome to the Blue Owl Jobby's Motel,' the man said, his words still sounding slurred.'Can I help you with anything?'

Sam took lead. He was the best in dealing with this kind of things

'Yes! We're actually here for a friend. You see, he had to go away on business suddenly and asked us to look after his stuff until he comes back.'

The man narrowed his eyes, as his vision wouldn't focus on the man before him.

'Uhuh, and what was your friends name again?' He said, looking rather groggy.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. They didn't know which name Kevin had used when he got the room. And if you couldn't even name your friends name... Sam tried something else.

'Well.' He said as he showed the motel key the had found on Kevin, on the key was the name of the motel and the room number engraved. 'He stayed in room number 113' Sam said and furiously hoped that the receptionist wouldn't notice he had dodged the question. Luckily for Sam, he hadn't. The man nodded slowly and after a few seconds started typing on a computer that looked like it was made by the dinosaurs themselves

'113, 113' He mumbled. 'Ah, Rick Ridgewell, yeah, odd fellow. He had this massive snake tat. He payed ahead for the room, like, a month. The room is still his for one week and two days.'

The man behind the desk straightened his back and strecthed a few muscles.

'Anyhow, the room is that way.' He said after he was done stretching, and pointed towards a hallway.

'Take the first stairs on the left, and then the seventh room to your right.'

Sam flashed a smile. 'Thanks' and he started walking towards the hallway.

Dean however, bended over the desk and with a grin on his face he said. 'Hey, bud, might wanna fix your sign. I believe your Y is broken.' the man just gave him a confused look, but before he could answer, Dean had already left.

When Dean joined his brother on the stairs Sam shot him a questioning look and asked; 'Dude, what was that all about?' To which Dean only smiled and said.

'Just some design advise Sammy, you wouldn't understand.' Sam rolled his eyes but said nothing, instead he looked around. The two were now on the first floor, and eventough all the doors were closed, you could hear the unmistable sound of a woman and men who were either watcing porn or doing porn. Besides that, it was silent. The hallway was empty and Sam easily spotted the room Kevin supposidly had stayed in.

The two quickly overbridge the space between them and the door and took positions. Sam slightly to the right of the door and Dean right in front of it. Sam took the key out of his pocket again and Dean, after making sure for a second time that the hallway was deserted, grabbed his gun. He wasn't really familiar with this type of gun, prefering the one that was now laying useless in the trunk of the impala, but hey, beggars can't be choosers and Dean was pretty sure that he could handle this gun like any other.

Sam slowly started twisting the key in the lock, trying to make as less sound he could. They didn't know what they would find and it never hurt to be carefull. Above the sound of the two people fucking their brains out, a soft click could be heard as the door unlocked. The two brothers shared a look. Now or never.

Sam opened the door quickly and Dean burst inside with his gun raised. He was meeted with a sight with a room so un-invitefull looking that it put the US prisons to shame. They walls, ceiling and floor looked even more worn than the ones in the reception. Dean had to shudder when he thought how the bathroom must look like. However, the place was loaded with files and pictures, the wall in front of the desk was completely covered in paper. From newspaper snippets to printed pictures, some showed smiling men and woman, others showed those same girls and boys laying death on the ground, throat ripped open and wound still fresh. Some pictures showed buildings, some rooms.(Dean guessed that those were the rooms of the victims) Besides some empty beer bottles, the place was deserted. He lowered his gun and signed to Sam it was safe to enter. When the longer brother entered, he let out a soft whistle.

'Seems like Kevin wasn't only doing research..' Sam said slowly. Dean nodded and stepped towards the wall with pictures. This wasn't just some research on local lore, this was a job. Then Dean noticed something.

'Hey, isn't this one of the chicks you showed me yesterday?' He said as he pointed to one of the pictures. Sam frowned and stepped closer. He softly touched the photo as he tried to remember. After a short period of time he said.

'You're right, that's her... Her ex-wife was accused of the murder though... Seems like Kevin thought otherwise...' Sam started to sound excited. 'See Dean! I told you this was a job! This is-'

Dean interupted him

'Yeah yeah yeah, you get an extra golden star, wizkid. You were right, there is a job. Next qeustion, what is the job and how are we going to solve it?'

Sam's brother didn't seem very happy to be wrong and he stared at the wall infront of him. it didn't look like the thing they were dealing was something they had dealt with before.

Sam snorted;

'Look around Dean, the answer is right infront of us.' And he pointed towards the wall. 'I'm pretty sure Kevin already has done most the work for us, we only have to figure out why he couldn't finish the job...'

He frowned shortly but then snapped his fingers. He turned towards Dean and said:

'Hey, you think Kevin had a journal? You know, something like dad's?'

Dean pouted his lips and shrugged.

'Dunno, didn't know the guy any better than you did.'

Sam sighed, it appeared his his brother was in a helpful mood today.

'Well, every other hunter I know has one'

Dean raised an eyebrow. 'I don't have one.'

Sam rolled his eyes.

'Fine, every other hunter besides you that I know of has one, so why don't you start looking for that and I'll try to figure out with what for case were dealing with.' He said and turned towards the wall again. Behind him, he could hear Dean mutter something and start his search. Good.

Kevin wasn't the neatest worker, and it looked like he liked working with pictures rather than words, so all Sam could work with were the photo's on the wall, alongside with some newspaper articles stating that persons were missing or found death and a few hastily scribbled words. Sam noticed that Kevin had found more victims than he had, some pictures even were connected with a red thread. So, Kevin had found a connection between the vics. On first sight Sam couldn't see the connection, each vic was different. Some female, others man, some were young, some were old, some were pretty... and others not so much...

Sam's train of thought was interrupted when Dean started to speak.

'Wait, do you have journal?'

Without turning around he answered.

'Yes, I have a journal.'

'Really? Because I've never seen you walking around with something like it.'

Still not moving Sam explained; 'That's because I keep it in the Impala, just write in it between jobs when you are already asleep.'

'oh, okey.' Dean said. Then it was silent, then a chuckle.

Sam had trouble not to groan He looked behind him and saw Dean bending over the bed, still looking for the journal, with a grin on his face.

'What?' Sam asked loudly.

Dean looked up and the grin disappeared.

'What?.'

'That chuckle, why you chuckle?'

'Oh, nothing Sammy, don't worry about it.' And with that, he started feeling the bed again. Slowly but surely the grin crept on his face again.

It was the second time that Sam rolled his eyes but he said nothing, he had a case to solve.

He turned around again and for a few moments they worked in silence, the only thing that could be heard was an occasional moan from the room further along the hallway. But then Dean said;

'You know, I only imagine you writing in your diary like some 12 year old girl.'

Sam spun around 'Dean! It's not a diary! It's a Journal!'

'Oh yeah? Than why you hide it and only write in it when I'm asleep?' Dean said stubbornly, arms crossed

'Because that is the only way I can write in it without you distracting me!' Sam exclaimed.

Dean frowned. That was a fair point.

Seeing that he was in the upperhand Sam decided to end the discussion quickly, before Dean had found a comeback, he turned towards the wall again and started tracing the red thread with his finger.

'It appeared that Kevin found a connection between some of the vics, but I can't find out wh-'

Sam's was interrupted when he heard a loud crash behind him he jumped around, grabbing his knife in a reflex

'Dude! What the hell?!' He said, sounding startled and angry. It appeared that Dean had been tired of searching underneath the matress and had decided it would be better if he just flipped the whole bed upside down so everything came crashing on the ground. And surely, there, between the cushion and sheets, laid a leather notebook.

Dean grinned, ignoring Sam's outcry.

'Yahtzee!.'

He quickly grabbed the journal from the floor and flipped through the last pages. He started reading.

MONDAY 7 September 2009

I finished my research on jack the ripper and have secured my notes. Will book flight home tomorrow. No oddities.

TUESDAY 8 September 2009

When on my way towards to airport I read today's newspaper. A murder case had been solved, man, 32 years old killed by wife. However, their marriage had been happy and the woman had no reason to kill her husband. I decided to check the autopsy. Man was killed by ripped open throat. How a woman with anorexia and barely any muscle had managed that I don't know. Tomorrow I will switch motel and start research,

Dean quickly read through a few pages.

'Next few days are him finding the deaths you found, and more deaths...' He said.

Dean frowned and walked towards Sam. He compared the names under the pictures and the names in the journal.

'And uh, the connection between those peeps.' He pointed at the photo's connected with the red thread. 'Is that they are either teachers or professors.'

'So what? Something killing of people who teach?'

'No, not only those...' Dean corrected and pointed towards another girl. 'She was a student, working on this huge ass project about Egyptian architecture.'

Dean flipped towards the last page and read out loud.

FRIDAY 19 September 2009

All people visited the British museum to look at the private collection.

The next thing was the last thing in the Journal, it was hastily written, making it difficult to read. Aside from that, there was no written date

Creature is a sphinx, will lure it to abandoned industrial site and kill it there.

Dean closed the Journal and handed it to Sam.

'A sphinx?' He said. 'Like that statue in Egypt?'

Sam brushed his hands through his hair.

'Uh, yeah I guess. But I never knew they still existed. Thought they were extinct.' Sam opened the Journal again, to make sure that it actually read 'sphinx'

'Well, this one sure as hell ain't, it's live and kicking and killing people. So how do we make sure it goes extinct?' Dean asked as he looked at the photo's of the mangled bodies.

'To be honest Dean, I don't even know how to recognise one, they are supposed to have a body of a lion and a face of a human, but I think it must look different or somebody would have noticed.'

Dean snorted;

'You think?'

Sam ignored the comment and flipped a few pages through the Journal.

'Kevin never describes how to kill it though...' Sam said hesitantly.

'Maybe just simple and a bullet through the brain?' Dean suggested. But Sam shook his head.

'No, it's a mythical creature, and those always need a special ritual before you can kill them.'

Dean kicked an empty beer bottle that laid before his feet.

'It's never simple...' He grumbled, then he looked at his brother again.'Do you know anything about sphinxes?'

'I read a story about one once, it was a greek myth with the Hero Oedipus.'

Dean interrupted him. 'That guy that fucked his mom?'

Sam was somewhat surprised that Dean recognised the story, but to be fair, if Dean would recognize any story it would be the one where the hero accidently married his mom.

'Yes, that one, the sphinx guarded a road, and would only let those pass that solved his riddle. Oedipus solved the riddle and killed the sphinx, after that he became a hero and was crowned King,'

Before Dean could ask anything else the first tunes of Smoke on the Water filled the room. His phone was ringing. He pulled out the device and saw an unidentified number, but recognized it as one of Bobby's. He took the call.

'Hello, with Dean.'

'I found a few things about this Sherlock, not much, but maybe it will come in handy.' Bobby's voice answered

'Well, tell me.' Dean said impatiently

'He has one living brother, some guy named Mycroft Holmes, high in the English food chain, if I were you I wouldn't try and locate that man if you don't want the MI6 on your asses. Both his parents are alive, but they barely see each other. He and John share a small apartment together, they rent it from a woman named Martha Louise Hudson and it's located at 221B Backerstreet. That's all I got for you,'

'Thanks, Bobby, that's all I needed.'

'I hope you are going to use this info to avoid the bastard, and not do something stupid, Dean?'

'What? Yeah, Yeah of course Bobby.' Dean answered hastily. He noticed that Sam was mouthing something at him. He raised his shoulders, signing that he didnt' understand, to which Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. He opened the journal and pointed at the word 'Sphinx.' Then Dean understood

'Hey Bobby, by chance, Do you know how to kill a sphinx?'

'What do you say, a sphinx?'

'Yes, a sphinx, that's what Kevin was hunting before he got ganked.'

Bobby sighed.

'Hold on a second.'

Through the phone Dean could hear Bobby grumble as he searched through his infinite selection of books, with an occasional 'balls' when he dropped something.

'Ah, here it is.' He eventually said.

'You know how to kill it?' Dean asked enthusiastically.

'No you idjit, but I found the book that might tell me. No shut you mouth for a second and let me find the right page.'

Again, a few grumbles could be heard this time accompanied by the rustling sound of paper.

'Here it is! Now, listen carefully.' Bobby said and he started to read.

'Sphinxes originate from Egypt, but roamed old greece as well. They can be found guarding treasure or old passage ways. They ask trespassers to solve a riddle, if the riddle is solved, you may pass. They are very hard to kill, but they are mortal. To kill a Sphinx you first have to solve her riddle, after that, you can kill the sphinx by strangulation.'

'Sounds like fun,' Dean said darkly when Bobby was done reading, but then he said.

'Thanks Bobby, we'll let you know when we offed the bastard.'

'Yeah, you better, be careful. Oh, and Dean?'

'Yeah?'

Dean could hear the smirk in Bobby's next few words.

'Let the riddle solving to Sam, because if you answer a riddle wrong or refuse to answer one, then you are next on his to-do list.'

'Well, Thanks for the trust Bobby,' Dean said annoyed and flipped the phone shut. After muttering a few curses directed at the hunter in the US He said to Sam.

'Bobby told me how to fry the fucker, for us both I hope you are good with riddles.'

Sam was confused.

'What?'

'Nevermind, I'll tell you on the way, you know where the creep his hiding?'

Sam pointed towards a map on the wall with pictures which Dean hadn't noticed before. On the map was a red circle around around a building.

'Kevin wrote in his Journal that all the vics visited the British museum before being killed, that and the fact that he has the building encircled on his wall is a pretty good sign that we should start looking there.'

Dean clasped his hands together, with a big smile on his face he said. 'Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go shopping for some sphinx fur.'

TBC

*Old English word, meaning goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't be afraid to ask any questions, I will gladly answer them!  
> Next chapter is next weekend!  
> Peace out and party on xx


	8. ...Should we attack her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloo!
> 
> READ: Now, for this chapter, I had to split it in two. It was just to big otherwise. (15 pages in word!) So, we start with our favourite Winchesters and I'll upload the second part around 22:00 CEST, more about it after the chapter
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: DEAN SAYS THE WORD BITCH, LIKE, ONE TIME AND ALSO THE WORD FUCK AND CRAP AND ETC ETC
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, just borrowed them for a bit. Will return them whole! well... define whole...
> 
> Thanks to those who subscribed/left a kudo/read the story, and for those who missed it, fear was indeed the right answer! I just forgot to tell you in the first few hours, but I edited the chapter and it's there now!
> 
> Now, enjoy part 1 of 2!

It was just after closing time, so the museum was almost deserted. At first Dean had thought it to be an advantage, but then Sam reminded him that even though the place was closed, many people who worked there would still be around. They couldn't use their passes, not only because Sam had lost his, but because they had a big suspicion that the police, and that Sherlock guy, would be watching out for sudden appearances of Interpol agents. But the brothers were around a lot longer than today and they knew how to deal with this stuff. They had a plan, that is, Sam had a plan.

So it happened that a mere hour later Dean found himself wearing a slightly too big security control uniform, next to him, Sam wore a matching uniform. While he tried to adjust his sleeves so they wouldn't fall over his hands, he grumbled frustrated.

'I just don't understand why we couldn't wait for the dark and sneak in, you know, old school style.'

Sam let out a soft bark like laugh.

'Dean, this isn't just a place you sneak into, we're talking about the National British Museum. This place is probably more secure than Bobby's drink cabinet.'

'Well, if it's so secured as you claim, what makes you think they will fall for this crap?' Dean shot back as he motioned to his ill fitting uniform.

Sam shrugged, he knew Dean was right, but he also knew that it was Friday night, that the people working there were tired and really wanted to go home. He just had to hope that their desire to go home was bigger than their suspicion for them.'

'Guess we just have to be very convincing.' He said. And with that, he opened the doors of the Museum.

-o-o-o-

Dean had to give Sam credit. His stupid plan actually worked. He watched his brother as he talked to a muscled security man and convinced him that they were here on a routine job and that something must've gone wrong with scheduling.

'No no, I understand, you two are the second whose appointment wasn't communicated. I'll try to fix it tomorrow, go ask the bosses what's wrong and all that. Do you mind coming back another time?' The muscled man said.

'Actually, it's very important the systems are checked today, otherwise they may malfunction, you see, they are very delicate and if they aren't maintained properly they will break, with a possibility of a complete security black out. No, they have to be checked today.' Sam said with a pretty convincing tone, it appeared that role playing as a fed had done his acting skills good.

The man hesitated shortly, but eventually he nodded.

'Very well, however, I will be checking your progress from time to time, we can't have people walking around completely unsecured, you know?'

'Yes, yes of course. ' Sam answered, relieved that his plan had actually worked. These English people were far too trusting.

'Good, when you bump into anyone who gives you trouble, tell them to contact Tim, that should settle it.'

'Thank you very much sir. We'll be on our way then.' Sam said with a smile and he walked off. Dean just nodded to the guard with a polite smile and started after his brother.

'Nice work Sammy.' He said.

Sam glanced at his brother.

'Yeah, well don't thank me yet. That was the easy part.

'I didn't thank you, just said 'nice work Sammy'' Dean noted dryly.

The longer Winchester rolled his eyes.

'Whatever, now, if you were an ancient creature whose sole purpose was protecting treasure, where would you hide?'

Dean grimaced.

'I wouldn't hide, just wait till some idiot walks by and wants to touch my things and then gank his ass.'

'Then I guess to play we have that idiot.'

'Wait.' Dean frowned.'how would you a-'

The two were just about to turn the corner when Sam yanked him back. Before he could curse at his brother he shoved him behind a statue of some sort of greek goddess. When Sam joined him, he looked serious, and Dean knew that this wasn't the time for screwing around. However, before he could ask what was wrong footsteps could be heard, alongside a voice.'

'... Return tomorrow. We couldn't stay longer anyway, it's past closing time.'

'John, this isn't just some nice trip were having. We're solving a murder here.'

Hearing the voice of the smug bastard made Dean's skin crawl and he was tempted to shoot the guy right on the spot, but he after a short hesitation he decided against it. Because 1. He very much doubted he could escape the crime scene in a place as secured as this one. 2. Sam probably wouldn't shut up about it for weeks.

So he settled for glaring at the man in trenchcoat from his hiding spot as he appeared around the corner, hoping that they would spot him so he could fight. Judging from the fact that Sam had stopped breathing, his brother hoped the opposite. He couldn't help but feel glad when he noticed that the Sherlock guy's head was partly covered in bandage.

He saw a small smirk appeared on the blond man's face.

'Well Sherlock, it appears you haven't solved any murder yet.'

'Yet.' was the only thing Sherlock softly said.

The two passed the statue... and kept walking. The longer man was walking fast-paced, and it looked like his friend had a little trouble catching up. It reminded Dean at the times when Sam and him were bickering and Sam started to walk faster than him just to annoy him.

'Well, to be honest, Sherlock, I don't know how digging through ancient old filed will get us any closer to the killer.

'That's because...' The voice faded away along with the sound of footsteps, behind him Dean could hear Sam let out a relieved sigh.

'That was close.' He said softly.

'Can you now move, sasquatch? Not all of us enjoy playing hide and seek behind some statue.' Dean grunted annoyed. The two brothers were literally crammed together behind the goddess, and with the size his brother was, it left little space for Dean. It wasn't like he wasn't used to being close quarters with his brother, he just enjoyed being able to breath

'Oh, yeah, sorry.' Sam answered as he moved from behind the statue.

Dean stepped into the open as well and stretched his back, then he frowned.

'Wait, what are Bonnie and Clyde doing here anyway.'

That was a good question, Sam had to admit that.

'Judging from their conversation, they were here doing research? 'Digging through ancient files' he answered.

'Research, just like Kevin had before he got jumped.' Dean noted.

'Those guys try to solve Kevin's murder too, right? So maybe they're here because they know Kevin was here too? I bet they know what he was researching before he bit the dust...' A hopefull spark appeared in Sam's eyes, maybe they could-

'No.'

'What?' Sam turned around to face Dean.

Dean crossed his arms, looking stubborn as ever.

'I know what you are thinking and the answer is no.'

'Dean...'

'We are NOT asking them for help.'

'But-.'

'For fucks sake Sam. He SHOT you, and now you want to go walk up to him and say; 'Hey, Remember me, I'm the guy you shot in an alley, now I was really curious if you happen to know why my dead friend was here before he got killed.' It's not going to happen Sam.' Dean had trouble not to raise his voice.

The two brothers then engaged in a staring contest. Dean still standing stubborn with his arms crossed and Sam who just tried to make use of his height advantage and look very big. They stood there for a few moments untill Sam realised his brother wouldn't budge. It appeard he had to try plan B.

'And don't even try to use that puppy face of your, because I swear I'll kick your ass.'

Sam sighed loudly and threw his hands in the air.

'Fine! I hope you have a better idea then?' He asked challenging

'Like asking the guy that SHOT you for help is such a good idea.'

'Screw you.'

'Yeah, not today Sammy, now, are you comming or are you just gonna be little bitch about it?'

Sam said not but just glared at his brother, but he still followed him around the corner. To be honest, Sam didn't like asking the two for help either. Hell, he didn't even know if Sherlock wouldn't just attack at first sight. Bobby had warned them that he was dangerous, very dangerous. But if he was as good as he claimed, then surerly he must know of the supernatural? In which other way would he explain certain deaths? it would be a lot easier to find the sphinx with him around.

For a moment they walked in silence, not knowing where to start. Then Sam snapped his fingers.

'Old files! Archives, that's where Kevin went. They must have a private selection here! And the sphinx is the one who guards those! It tests everybody who wants access to them, and who wants access to the archive, professors and students! It fits Dean!' Sam exclaimed a bit to loud.

Dean glanced at his excited brother, then he nodded.

'Well, it's as good idea as any, let's hit the archives.'

-o-o-o-

Not much time later, the two Winchesters stood before a door with a sign above it that read.

RESEARCH AREA, NO ADDMITANCE.

Sam pouted.

'This looks like a place I would guard.'

'Really Sammy? You of all people is the guy that, when in place full of gold and old treasure, decides to guard the paper.' Dean scoffed.

'Hey! Without that 'paper' we wouldn't be able to do our job, most of the knowledge of monsters comes form ancient old scrolls.' Sam shot back.

Dean only huffed.

'Whatever.' He said as he opened the door. They were met with a long hallway. On each side of the hallway there were plenty of doors, each looked heavily secured. But if needed, they could always try to and shortcut the system. Except from an old cleaning lady that looked as old as some of the artifacts in the museum, the place was deserted. The lady noticed them as they entered, and smiled to them as a greeting, to which they hesitatenly smiled back, after that she returned to her work.

Sam inched a little closer to his brother and whispered.

'Does she look like a sphinx to you...?' Doubt was clearly audible in his voice.

'Uhm, Im sure she's a cat lady, but wouldn't know if she that kind of cat lady.' Dean whispered back. '...should we attack her?'

'What? No!' Sam said startled. 'She might break something!'

'Well, if she's a sphinx I don't mind her breaking a few bones!' Dean hissed back.

'Gentlemen, what can I do for you?'

Dean was already halfway pulling out his gun when Sam grabbed his arm to stop him. They hadn't heard the lady coming, but now she stood before her, arms resting on her hips and her face decorated with a smile that was as real as the uniforms they were wearing. Her name tag read 'Jeanine'. When Sam was sure Dean didn't wouldn't pull his gun out he let go of the arm and answered. He had his story ready.

'Good afternoon my lady, were here for security inspections. We were headed to the archives, but it appears we're lost. Would you maybe mind showing us where we need to go?.'

Her smile sweetened.

'To be honest, I actually had somewhere else to go, wanted to surprise a friend.' She said and showed her teeth when she smiled. 'But for you two I can make an exception, wouldn't want anybody wandering around in the museum, now would we?' as she turned around.

The two brothers shared a look, Dean raised an eyebrow and Sam shrugged in response. It could be the spinx, or it could be someone else. However, what happend next made it pretty clear.

'Oh!' She turned around and faced the Winchesters. 'But quid pro quo* as they used to say, isn't it. Before I show you, would you like to answer a question?'

Dean narrowed his eyes. This smelled like crap.

'Uh, sure, I don't see why not.' Sam answered, but Dean noticed that his hand was slowly moving towards the knife in his hidden under his uniform.

The lady moved closer to Sam, she had to bend her neck a fair bit backwards to look him in the face.

'You see... I have this riddle stuck in my head, and I just can't figure out the answer. Would you mind helping me?' She said with an innocent voice.

Now, Dean was pretty sure that asking random strangers to help you solve a riddle wasn't really normal people behavior. But it appeared Sam had been right, she didn't look like a sphinx. Yes, she had a few cat hairs on her clothes, but that was the only thing that was cat like. So she was disguised. He really wanted to shoot her right there, but he rememberd what Bobby had said, before you can kill a sphinx you had to solve it's riddle. So it was in their best interest to make sure that the sphinx kept talking.

Sam swallowed. He and the sphinx were almost touching, and he really didn't like the idea of being so close to an ancient old killer creature that could probably rip his troath out in a matter of seconds.

'I love riddles.' He managed to say after swallowing again.

She cocked her head.

'Good.' And then she stepped away from him, and Sam couldn't help but let out soft sigh in relief. She closed her eyes as she started to speak

'Of rings I am made, yet not a gift to love ones. Those who use me, awaits inevitable death.' She said with an omnious voice that didn't enterly fit whith here appearance

Sam hesitated. If he get it wrong the he doubted he would get another riddle to solve. He wondered if she would attack him right on the spot or if she would go after him in a place more excluded...

They stood in silence for a few minutes. Dean moving nervously beside him, he hated it having to wait to kill her when the monster was right infront of him. Sam only had attention to the creature, hoping that her face would betray anything. A door slammed, the cleaning lady was gone. Then a answer started to form in his head, when he thought about it, it was pretty obvious. But of course, normal rules didnt' apply on riddles.

'A noose, the answer is a noose.' He said, but he couldn't keep his doubt out of his voice.

The sphinx narrowed her eyes. Then she smiled, and opened her eyes. Her pupils weren't round anymore, but were replaced with a thin black line, just like a cat's eye.

'Wrong, Sammy.' She hissed grinning and she launched at him.

Dean didn't waste a second, he pulled his gun and shot her in midair. When the bullet embedded itself in her chest she let out a horrifying growl and was thrown off balance, making it possible for Sam to dodge her when she came crashing to the ground. He grabbed his knife and his eyes widened as she started to turn right in front of them. Her body grew bigger and her back became hunched. The clothes she wore were replaced by a shining gold fur, her fingers became shorter and long claws started to grow. After a few seconds, the were face to face with a lion, except it still had the head was that of the lady. Despite all Dean had gone through, he would classify her as 'weird', even for them. It didn't look like the bullet bothered her any longer, because she crawled on her four legs again and turned around, growling at Dean.

'If you want to kill me you have to do better than that, petty hunter.' She snarled.

'Yeah, I wouldn't insult the person with a gun if I were you.' He snapped back and raised his gun for a second shot. However, that was the moment the alarm bells started ringing. He got distracted for a moment when he tried to figure out what the sound was, only for a second. But that was all the that the sphinx needed. She pounced at Dean. The two landed on the ground with in a mess of grunts and snarls. Dean was unlucky and landed under, the sphinxes paw pressed him against the ground, claws digging in his shoulder. Snapping her jaws she tried to reach his neck, but Dean grabbed her by her mane and had to use all his strength to keep her teeth away from his throat

'SAM! MIND HELPING?' He shouted.

Sam had recoverd from his fall and had crawled upright, knife in his hand. He took aim and a second later his knife sunk in the sphinx neck a few inches away from Dean's hand, straight through windpipe. The sphinx howled in pain and lost control on her grip. Dean immediately seized the opportunity and with a forceful blow he shoved her away from him. She landed next to him and had to gasp for air, which didn't really work, because of the knife that was still sticking in her neck.

Before he could stand up by himself Sam had already grabbed him by the arms and yanked him upright.

'Dean we have to go! Now!.' He said half screaming as he tried to make himself audible above the sound of blaring alarm

'What?! No Way! We gotta kill the bitch!' He said as he looked around, desperately trying to find his gun.

'Don't you understand Dean?! We can't kill her! Don't you think a bullet to the hart would have stopped her if we could?! The place will be swarming with cops in a few seconds, so unless you want to explain this mess, we have to go!.' Sam shouted.

Dean still doubted for a second, wanting to believe he could finish the job, right here, right now, the monster was goddamnit sprawling on the floor right in front of them! But he realised he was right, he really didn't' want to be here when the cops arrived.

'Fine!' He shouted back frustrated.

Sam didn't waste time after that, he quickly grabbed the gun from the floor where Dean had dropped and bolted to the door. Behind him he could Dean follow him, cursing under his breath.

'I'll find you, you are lucky you are second, but I will find you!.' She roared at them.

Sam didn't turn around, sprinting through the door. They found themselves in the hallways again and tried to find the exit as quickly as possible. However, when he turned the corner the two brothers crashed into a few guards, stun guns raised.

'Hey Hey! Watch it!' One of them screamed and pushed Sam away. He pointed the stun gun at Sam, but Sam knew what to do. Waving his hands as in panic and with a flustered voice he started to speak, almost to fast for anybody to understand.

'There was a shooting! A Woman! She tried to shoot us! Quick, you have to get her before she shoots anybody! Please! She's that way!' He pointed towards the hallway from which they had come. The guards nodded and took off, leaving the two standing alone in the middle of the museum.

They didn't waste more time and quickly found an way out of the building, the didn't encounter anyone else on their way out, and nobody stopped them on the way to the motel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jeanine appears to be not so very sweet as she would make herself look! Well, if you hadn't figured it out by now... :P I wanted to focus more on the protagonists than try to hide my monster, so I made it quite obvious for the reader who it was. I hope that didn't put you off!
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: As you may have noticed, the last chapters have encreased in size somewhat, (5000-6000 words) I'm gonna try to bring that down to 3000-4000 words per chapter, because school has started and it has already grabbed me by the throat! It appears it doesn't gonna let go soon... But my goal is updating every week, and I'm gonna stick to it! I'm gonna try to let every protagonist shine in every chapter, but it can happen that if have to split it again, but if that happens the second part will be uploaded the same day if possible, and otherwise the day after.
> 
> Again thanks for reading! Don't be shy! If you have any suggestions about how to handle to big chapters, please let me know. I really didn't want to split this one, but otherwise it would be to big. Do you mind big chapters? Do you like them? I wanna know so I can try to update my story as best as I can!
> 
> (And of course I want to know what you thought of this chapter :3 )
> 
> See you in a few hours xx
> 
> (I have to work from 15:00 to 21:00 CEST, I'm checking the chapter now, but probably won't be able to finish it before I have to go, so it be out around 22:00)


	9. I'm not getting out here naked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER WARNING: Minor teeny weeny spoilers warning for season 2 & 3\. Regarding the brothers run in with the cops. it's reaaal small and you wouldn't even notice it if you haven't seen the episodes. (Episodes: Nighshifter, Folsom prisons blues, Jus in Bello)
> 
> I'm sorry, but I just couldn't get around those episodes!
> 
> Geuss who had to work over time today? That's right, me! And this chapter was a bitch to edit, I just didn't like it as it was so I had to change a fair deal of it. So, a bit late, but still here, part 2 of 2!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Next morning

-o0o-

Sherlock wasn't happy. And that was because of three things. 1. John insisted that his fingernails couldn't stay in the in the fridge any longer (He claimed it started to affect the food) so he wast forced to move them or abandon the project. He had favoured the idea of moving his project, but he had no place to store it. So it left him no choice but to dispose his precious nails and acid. 2. He had missed a shooting, by only five minutes nonetheless! 3. He had woken up with a colossal headache, as his medication he had been given in the hospital had finally leaved his body. After a short but intense discussion, Sherlock had allowed John to re-apply his bandages and give him some painkillers. After 27 minutes, the pain started to lessen. 12 minutes later Lestrade had called.

It appeared that shortly after they had found a cabbie, a shot had been fired in the museum. Lestrade had told him very little. Only that the gunman, victim and gun hadn't been found. They had found blood, but that was the only thing. How the security had managed to let every possible person involved escape was beyond Sherlock. The moment he had finished his call with Lestrade he had been ready to go the museum and look at the traces the police would have missed. He had a feeling in his gut that this was involved with the Kevin case somehow, and he knew that you must always trust a gut feeling. The only problem was, John had locked himself in the bathroom. After arriving home yesterday, John had finally noticed that he his chin was still decorated with spots of unshaven stubbles, and had been annoyed with Sherlock that he had neglected to tell him. As a result of that , John had now decided to lock the door and refused to leave before he was finished. Sherlock didn't want to leave without his trusted companion, the matter wasn't that pressing, but it still irked him.

So he was left sighing on the couch and staring at the bathroom while John finished showering. That was, until his phone rang. It was one of the people from the airport. Sherlock frowned. Was he wrong? Would the man leave the country? It was the most logical thing to do, but it just didn't fit with them. Deciding the best course of action was listing to what the person had to say, took the call.

'Sherlock Holmes.' He simply said.

'The detective?' came the answer, the voice was high pitched, yet didn't belong to an incredible young person. Sherlock guessed the caller must be end twenties, a bit of a thin guy.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'No, consulting detective.' He corrected.

'Yes, okey, Listen, I got your message, but I need to tell you something... About the Winchesters...' The last part was considerably softer spoken than when he had started his sentence

Winchester. He had heard that name before. But where? It was obvious that the man was referring to the men Sherlock was after. Yet, how was it possible that the man knew their name? Maybe they had given the man a false name too? It was a plausible theory. When he didn't continue Sherlock started talking, sounding just as annoyed and curious as he was.

'Well, tell me, what you know?'

'What? No no no no, I can't possibly tell you this per phone. You don't know who or even what is listening to us right now!' The man said, sounding shocked

Sherlock had to fight the urge to groan out loud. Great, it appeared that there was a kink in his network, because one of his info givers clearly had a paranoia disorder.

'I can assure you, there will be nobody of interest listening to this phone call.' Mycroft might be listening, but he wasn't really a person of interest. At least, not for Sherlock anyway.

'No no, You don't understand. Please, just... Can we meet somewhere?' The voice asked pleadingly

Sherlock watched the clock. It was 9:36 AM. The man worked at the airport, so his shift had already started.

'Fine.' He said, managing not to sound to annoyed 'I'll see you at the airport in within the next hour.'

The man didn't even answer, he just hung up. But Sherlock didn't mind, although the man had sounded paranoid, he had given him a name. Depositing his phone back in his pocket he searched for John's laptop bag. It laid shoved in a corner next to their bookshelf. Ignoring the mess in their apartment Sherlock grabbed the bag and pulled the laptop out of its case. He moved towards the desk near the window, and without hesitation shoved the books laying orderly on it on the ground. With loud banging sounds they fell on the ground, luckily for them, Mrs Hudson was accustomed to the sounds.

After a few minutes of digging he had found little. Only the pictures of the gun and some fansites for a book serie. But then he found something that he could use. It was a news article.

'The two man that were caught earlier this day for bank robbery and murder of several woman were killed today in a freak helicopter accident. The two brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester had no living family left, their father, John Winchester, died less than a year ago from heart failure. It is believed that the father was the one that left the brothers astray...'

The article continued telling the tragic story of boys, how their father had messed them up in the head and how they started killing, at first it was thought that the older brother, Dean, was the only suspect, but it appeared that he had dragged his brother down with him. This was very interesting. Could it actually be that the two man who was now creating havoc in London were the presumed deceased Winchester brothers? The theory was absurd, it said here, they were dead... Maybe the man was referring towards another pair called Winchester? That was very likely, it could be that 'Winchster' was just a name a gang group had choosen, because of the gun. Yes, that was much more plausible. However, Sherlock didn't stop reading. The Winchester brothers intrigued him. He read further, apparently the two had not been easy to caught. They had managed to pull of several large crimes before they were finally incarcerated. They had even managed to escape a prison! They were smart, very smart. And a tiny voice started to whisper in Sherlocks head 'If they had managed to avoid the cops for so long, then why wouldn't the be able to fake their own death?' Sherlock saved the news article and changed his search input to 'Sam Winchester Dean Winchester.' He discovered several articles telling the same story as the first. Eventually, he found himself on a site that gathered all available data of people and released them online. Sherlock highly doubted that was legal. Under the names Sam and Dean Winchester he found a whole list of crimes. His eyes widened as he read along.

\- Credit card fraud  
\- Breaking and entering  
\- Impersonation of officials (FBI, CIA, Homeland security, CDC)  
\- Grave desecration  
\- Desecration of corpses  
\- Breaking out of jail  
\- Assaulting and officer  
\- Arson  
\- Stealing multiple cars  
\- Kidnapping  
\- Murder

Sherlock was impressed. He wasn't easily impressed, but now he was. They had committed all these crimes and still had managed to outrun the cops for several years, and appeared they were still running... The proof was right on the screen, a picture of two man holding automatic rifles, staring into the security camera. The one much longer than the other, with long hair wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. The shorter one had spiked hair and wore a leather jacket and jeans. He had seen them before, they were the same men that had made Sherlock suspicious at the morgue.

This wasn't just normal gang murder.

These were men on the most wanted list.

These men had been able to evade every possible government force for years while committing crimes all of the US.

These man had faked their death and were still on the loose

These were Sam and Dean Winchester.

For a moment, he let it sink in. This was great, one of his biggest challenge yet, this was more than great. This was fantastic. Finally something real exciting happened in London! Sherlock sprung from his chair, flinging it backwards to crash loudly on the floor. He closed the laptop and shoved it back in it's case. He was sure he would be able to find a lot more if he would keep digging. He even considered stealing Mycroft's codes and hack in the US criminal database. Maybe he would be able to find a motive, John Winchester could be the cause, but Sherlock wanted to know the real reason the brothers went on rampage, not the reason that justified it. But before he would try and do such thing, he would go to the man at the airport. He always that people told him a lot more than the things he found online.

But Sherlock wouldn't go without John.

He had overbridge the space between him and the bathroom door in a few seconds and knocked forcefully on the door. John was almost sure somebody was trying get in the bathroom with a moker.

'JOHN'

It was Sherlock

John sighed, partly relieved it wasn't some sort of attack and partly because that there was no chance he would be able to finish his morning ritual properly.

'Sherlock, whatever it is, it can wait until I am dried.' He shouted back.

He turned off the faucet, just in time to hear Sherlock groan, then a soft thud when he let his head fall against the door, followed by a few muttered curses because Sherlock had forgotten about his head injury.

'It can't wait John, this is of most importance.'

'Well, I'm not getting out here naked, Sherlock.'

Looking into the mirror he decided he could skip shaving, he had done that yesterday evening, and if he stayed to long in the bathroom he was Sherlock would be able to find a way in, even if he had to break the door. Or worse, leave without him.

'I found a lead, I know who the man are who we lost yesterday' Sherlock shouted through the door

John finished drying himself and grabbed the clothes he had grabbed before entering the bathroom. Then he realised what Sherlock had said.

'Really? How?' He wondered out loud.

Sherlock sighed again, being impatient as he was.

'I got a call from one of my informants, and if you get out already we will go to him! Now!'. Sherlock's voice was a lot louder than a few moments ago

Luckily for him, John was ready. He unlocked a the door and was met with a very excited Sherlock, eyes sparkling in a way John still wasn't entirely comfortable with. But he knew that they had work to do

'Okey, where we're going?'

-o-o-o-

It was busy as always at the airport, and as always, Sherlock ignored everybody. He knew that most of them were normal travellers, some smugglers, be it drugs or human. He had already to drug donkeys in the waiting area. But he didn't bother to turn them in, it wasn't really worth the trouble. And if they kept acting as nervous as they were now, then they would certainly get caught. No, he was here for a different matter, a much more interesting one. After he had hung up and John had finally been ready the had quickly grabbed a cab. On the way, his informant had texted him where to meet up with him. Apparently, the man was one of the airplane mechanics, and today he had been assigned to check the rapports full of data from the airplanes, a boring job, but that also meant he had an office to work in, and in there they could speak private.

Sherlock didn't halt once on his way towards the employee area. He had mapped the airport in his head long ago, being sure he would inevitably need it someday, maybe when chasing some criminal who tried to escape the country. Sherlock occasionally bumped into a tourist who was trying to take 'cute' pictures of themselves and everything that had 'London' written on to it. Behind in his shadow, John had more luck. Sherlock was very certain that John had successfully dodged every person. It was a natural skill from his short friend. And was quite jealous of, he thought as he bumped into an Asian with a particular big camera.

'Sory!' The man muttered, but Sherlock was already gone.

Because of how crowded the place was, it took longer to reach the area than he would have liked. In his head, his gears were making over hours. How did his informant know who the Winchesters were? Had he seen them on the news? Did he have contacts with him? Was he himself involved in the brothers complot? And if he wasn't, why hadn't he reported the two to the authorities?

John and Sherlock entered one of the airports more open area's and the consulting detective immediately spotted the man he needed. He stood on the other side of the place, and looked just like Sherlock had predicted. End twenties, dark brown hair, looked like his limbs were a little to long for his body, like a teenager in his growth spurt. He was nervous, shifting his weight from leg to another and scanning the room for his two guests, or enemy's, Sherlock wasn't sure.

That was the moment the man noticed Sherlock and John. It wasn't like they were hard to miss. Sherlock had made sure his informants knew who to look for when dropping of info, he always went to meetings like this himself because he didn't trust anybody else, and to make sure his informants were save for potential rivals of his. It wouldn't do him any good if the informants didn't want to work with him because he couldn't keep them save.

The man raised his hand slightly in a hesitant attempt to wave. He didn't want gain any attention (At which he failed miserably, even Anderson could see this man was going to do something dodgy.) but he also wanted to make sure Sherlock had noticed him, as if he would miss him.

Coming to a halt in front of the man Sherlock did his conclusions. smart with mechanics, not smart with people, but for some reason he had found a mate. Female, not yet engaged, however. They had just moved in together, he wanted kids, she a cat. Sherlock took a look to the man's eyes, which were now big and looking up to him. But there was something else, something that didn't fit with the character. He was far too jumpy, or at least, his eyes were. They would focus on Sherlock for a moment, but then quickly shift to look at something behind him, to then focus on Sherlock again and after a second continue its path to the other side of the hall. It was clear he was looking for danger, but if he did, why did he skip all the people and only focused on the shadowed corners? Childhood drama he guessed, afraid of the dark. And because Sherlock and John were here, he became nervous and fell back in old habits of making sure there were no monsters in the dark. At least, that's what Sherlock thought.

'You're Sherlock right, then you must be... Joseph?' He said as he looked to John, trying to judge if he was indeed a friend.

He from the US, his accent clearly audible. How interesting.

'Yes, that would be me, but this is John' He motioned behind him to his blogger, who was desperately trying to find out what the dark haired man in front of him had been looking at. 'and you're my informant and I really don't have time to talk about the weather, so if we could move along, that would be lovely.' Sherlock said, already looking for a place private.

'Uh, Yes! Of course, please, follow me.' He said as he cast a last look towards the shadowed corners and opened the door behind them.

A few moments later the three of them found themselves in an office that looked and felt more like a closet than a place someone could work in. It was clustered, the desk barely left any room for the office chair behind it. It was quite amusing to watch as the informant struggle to get behind his desk. There were two chairs cramped in the room too, but they looked just as comfortable as a bed of nails. Sherlock preferred standing, and he was to impatient to sit down. Before the airport employee was properly seated, Sherlock started to speak. His voice clearly didn't leave room for vague answers.

'How do you know the Winchesters?'

The informant was startled by Sherlocks serious tone.

'I- They helped me out when I was in trouble a few years ago.'

Sherlocks eyes widened and John cocked his head slightly.

'What kind of trouble? You needed somebody to be put down?' Sherlock said omniously as he bended forwards over the desk.

The man's mouth dropped open slightly.

'What? Oh God no! No, I uh, was attacked, in the woods, and they helped me get out safely.' He managed to say. 'But that's what I called you for! I just wanted to tell you, please, let the brothers be, they're probably doing a job right now.'

'Leave them alone? Do you even know who they are? What they did?' John asked demanding, arms crossed. On the way towards the airport, Sherlock had told everything he had been able to dig up about the Winchesters. John didn't think very fond of murderers, and thought little more for those who helped them. Sherlock was very glad that the bloggers glare wasn't directed at him this moment.

The man sighed in frustration.

'Yes, but it's not what you know think it is! it's... It's different.'

'Different, how?' this time it was Sherlock who talked. It was obvious that the man was hiding something, even a deaf man could hear the desperation in his voice.

'They had to do those things! To keep people safe! From that thing that attacked me...'

Now they were getting somewhere.

'Well, what attacked you?' John huffed, not believing the man's story. But Sherlock saw it, this man wasn't lying, or atleast, he thought he was telling the truth. The Winchesters had saved him from something and he believed that they had saved more people. How? How could he think that? Did the brothers tell him that? Was he delirious?

'I, I believe they called it a ...wendigo?'

Wendigo, what was a wendigo? Sherlock didn't recognise the name. Surprisingly, John gave the answer.

'A wendigo? Like, the monster?' He asked, his eyebrow raised in disbelief.

The man smiled, glad that someone understood him.

'Yes! Exactly!

'That's ridiculous.' Sherlock simply said, and the smile disappeared.

'No, No, You have to believe me! I was hiking with some mates and...' His eyes darkened as he thought about that damn trip a few years back. Again, a sign for Sherlock that the man believed himself. 'and the it attacked. It wounded us pretty bad, but one of the Winchesters said that it had been toying with us, otherwise we would've been dead... Whatever, just, the brothers killed the thing by burning it just in time, it was ripping Warren's leg up right in front of our eyes...' The last part of the sentence was just a whisper and his eyes had glaced over. John had no doubt what the man was imagining now, he himself had had to struggle with PTSD a few times in his life, but now he managed. Sherlock didn't leave any room for bad memories.

'A monster.' was the only thing Sherlock simply said, not a question, just a statement.

The man was pulled back to the present.

'Yes, and they killed it.'

'And you believe they kill monsters, for their job?'

'Yes, that's what they told me.'

John watched as Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he scanned every inch of the man in front of him, desperately looking for a sign of doubt. There wasn't any.

'How did you know they were here?' He eventually said.

The man shrugged.

'After the incident, I moved to London and started working at the airport, I recognised them when they landed. After you sent the description into the network, I just knew it were the Winchesters.'

'Why are they here?'

'I don't know, but it's probably for some sort of monster. They don't go anywhere if there isn't a monster near.'

For a second nobody moved in the room, then Sherlock straightened up.

'Well, thank you for your time, John and I have to catch two murderers. oh, and don't bother calling me anymore, I don't appreciate it when lunatics enter my network.'

'What?! I am not telling lies!' The said with raised voice and jumped from his chair.

'No, you don't think you're telling lies, there's a difference. You probably suffer from paranoia, if I were you, I would go talk to a therapist, now if you would excuse us.' Sherlock turned around and left the room, not giving his informant a second look after his harsh words.

John was left in the room, staring between the door his friend has just disappeared through and the man who let out a desperate sigh and sunk back in his chair. He let his head fall in his hands and started shaking.

'It's true... What I saw was true...' He mumbled softly

He looked up to John, and he saw the near panic in his eyes. PTSD.

'You have to believe me...' His words were little more than the faintest whisper. Then his head fell in his hands again.

John didn't know what to say. This man couldn't be lying. Sherlock had been right, this man suffered from a mental illness, but not the one he thought. His mental state didn't cause the monsters, the monsters caused his mental state. Could he be telling the truth...? A seed of doubt had nestled in the veteran's mind.

He shook his head and left the room.

-o-o-o-

Outside, Sherlock was waiting on him.

'How did you know what a 'wendigo' was?' Sherlock asked when the two started walking towards the other side of the airport, to the exit.

John shrugged.

'My sister used to tell me stories about monsters all the time, and how to kill them.'

'How do you kill a wendigo then?' Sherlock asked.

'You burn them.' John said, and couldn't help but think about the man's story, he said the Winchesters had burned the wendigo... Just like the lore.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, weaving through the crowds. When the finally managed to find the exit and were outside, John couldn't help but ask.

'Do you really think he was lying?'

Sherlock's heads scrunched in confusion, why would John ask such an obvious question?

'Yes, but it seems he has convinced himself that he was telling the truth. He probably has some serious mental problems and spun a whole story together, starring the Winchester who he had seen on the news in the US no doubt.'

'He sounded pretty convinced.'

Sherlock halted and turned towards his companion. In John's eyes, there was something Sherlock couldn't entirely understand. Annoyance? Why would John be annoyed with him? He couldn't possible be offended that he hadn't believed the story, right?

'Of course he sounded convinced, he thinks it's the truth.' Sherlock simply said.

'And it hasn't even crossed your mind that he may be telling the truth?' John said, his voice a little softer than normal.

Sherlock couldn't believe his ears. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, this had been a serious question.

'Listen, I'll tell you this once, and only once because I can't believe I actually have to tell you this. John, monsters aren't real.'

John threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

'I know Sherlock! But, just, you didn't see him after you left the room! He just looked so defeated when you didn't believe him!' John's voice started rise slowly

'Naturally! That's because I just popped his little fantasy bubble, I'm sure you were a little sad when you were told Santa isn't real!'

'That's not what I mean Sherlock, the man had a total mental breakdown in there! That doesn't happen for nothing, I think he was telling the truth, or at least, partly. Something happened on his hike, I-'

Sherlock interrupted him voice raised too and arms flailing through the air.

'Oh come on John! Fine! Let's assume monsters exist for a moment, then pray tell me, why haven't we found one? We have seen lots of murders, and not one, mind you, not one, was because of something supernatural attacked it. Don't you think we, of all people, would have noticed if monsters were among us?'

John narrowed his eyes. Sherlock was right. There was something off, and there had been something off a long time. Now slowly pieces started to fit together. Yet, he didn't want to believe it.

'You're right, we should've noticed.'

Sherlock lowered his arms and sighed.

'Thank you, now, my plan is- Wait, where you're going?' He called after John, who had promptly turned around and was moving rather quickly towards another stopping taxi. John didn't stop walking but looked behind him and shouted.

'I just have to do something! I'll meet you at the museum!'

John turned away from him and waved as he stepped in the cab. Sherlock watched as the cab disappeared into the traffic. It was one of the rare moments one could describe Sherlock as 'baffled'. What had just happened?

-o-o-o-

Inside the cab, John was twisting his thumbs, sunken in thought. He was thinking about something that happened years ago, he had been only a child. It was late in the evening. Harry had returned home after a long period of absence, it was around this time she had started drinking. She and their parents started screaming at each other, how irresponsible she was, running away from home. She shouted that they didn't understand, they never would. John, being as young as he was, hid in his room. John had thought it had been about her sexuality, he had always assumed that.

What happened next, he had blamed to her being drunk. She had come to his room, eyes red from crying.

'Hey, Kiddo.' She said with a weak smile.

John didn't answer but just stared as she sat next to him on the bed. They sat for a moment in silence. Eventually, John asked.

'Are you going away again?'

She had sighed.

'Yes, mum and dad don't appreciate it when I'm here it appears.'

'I don't care if you love women!' John had squeaked, thinking that was the cause of the problem. She had smiled a crooked smile.

'Thank you, John, that's real kind.' She answered softly.

Harry had patted his head and stood up, preparing to leave. However, when she was near the door, she halted. Harry turned around and looked her little brother in the eyes.

'John, when you think there is a monster in your closet, don't open it, just, leave.'

After that, she had moved away from home. John barely saw her. She became worse and worse, sinking away in depression and becoming more and more alcohol independent.

Back in the taxi, John watched the scenery as he thought about the past. He would make sure to visit Harry when he was done with the case, however, today, it wasn't his sibling John planned to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! This time really! Whoa!
> 
> Where is John going? What is the deal with his sister? And what are Sam and Dean going to do? We know next week! :D
> 
> Oh, and I don't know if Harry is really older than John, but I took advantage of the 'freedom of the artist' and made her a few years older.
> 
> Thanks for reading and your patience, feel free to ask any questions you have or leave your opinion about the story/chapter :3
> 
> Peace out and Party on, see ya'll pretties next week!
> 
> xx


	10. Do you believe in monsters, Mycroft?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And were back! a little late...
> 
> Sooooo, school has started... And hockey season (Field hockey, for those wondering) And they kinda making my live a little hectic ATM. But, the show must go on! I will try to upload as soon as possible as I can, this story will never be abandoned! I'm hoping to finish it in like... 4/5 chapters? So, it probablly end up being 7 chaps, knowing my writing style.
> 
> Also, I totally couldn't get this chap under the 6000 words. I'm horrible at keeping my own goals.
> 
> Thanks to everybody who commented and left kudos!! You guys are totally amazing! I love y'all <3
> 
> Welcome back to my beta: FluffingToaster! Yay!
> 
> Disclaimer: Hereby I only claim the plot, and Kevin, and the PTSD guy from last chap... Further I own Nothing! With a capital N!
> 
> When starting this story I totally didn't know about the Kevin in season 7/8 of supernatural, because I'm currently only in season 8 of Supernatural! Silly me.
> 
> (pleasinternetdontspoilanythingthankyou)
> 
> Now... Enjoy!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: DEAN SWEARS LIKE, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY OFTEN IN THIS CHAP. BECAUSE HE IS THAT WAY.

John didn't exactly know where to find Mycroft. Sherlock rarely talked about his brother, and the only times John saw the government agent was when he needed something from him. So he always came to them. But John had an idea. One time, when Sherlock had been ranting on about his brother, he had mentioned a gentlemen's club. The Diogenes club. It was as good a place to start as any. It took him a few google inputs to actually find where it was located. He ordered the taxi driver take him there and after 20 minutes he found himself standing in front of a posh looking villa nestled in the heart of London.

What now?

He knew Mycroft was part of the club, but that didn't mean he was there now. To be honest John didn't even know how to get in. If Sherlock was with him, they would already be inside, be it either by breaking into the facility or tricking the security. But John knew, he had to do this alone, there was no way Mycroft would speak honestly with his brother around.

John looked around, trying to find a way in. Of course, there was the front door, but he highly doubted that they would let him in a club people like Mycroft were part of. It was probably a club only for people who were part of secret agencies, and then you didn't want anybody like John wandering around inside, even if he claimed that he knew Mycroft.

On the first floor, there were several big windows. A few were even open. But they were pretty high up, and one couldn't describe John as very tall. There was no way he could quickly slip through one of the windows without turning a few heads.

'John Watson, what a pleasant surprise.'

John managed to not jump when hearing the voice. Sherlock liked creeping up to him in their house to scare him by suddenly starting to talk. He claimed he didn't mean to, but John knew better. It was only logical his brother liked to do the same with people. He turned around and there stood Sherlock's older brother, he had just exited from his black car, in which Anthea, Mycroft's assistant, spoke softly to the driver which quickly drove off. Mycroft's hands were resting on his cane, he had an almost unnoticeable smile on his lips.

'Mycroft.' John just said. He didn't know what to think of the man. It was Sherlock's brother, but Sherlock hated him. However, It appeared that Mycroft didn't hate his brother. It was a weird relationship, making him a little more than slightly confused.

'Well, I think you must be here for me, either that or you were just planning to break into the building for fun?' Mycroft said with his soft voice, leaving no doubt that he had noticed that John had been looking for a way in.

However, he didn't let John answer. He motioned the blogger to follow him as he walked towards the building.

'Whatever it is, let's do it inside, I heard it's going to rain soon.' He said.

John had been right. The place was heavily secured. Mycroft walked up to the few stairs in front of the door and it swung open. Two men held the door open for the pair. They were unmoving, just like the guards at Buckingham palace. Immediately after John had entered, the door closed again. When walking through the rich decorated halls they encountered few people, and those who they met only nodded at Mycroft, they didn't even acknowledge that John was there as well.

After a few twists and turns, Mycroft finally entered one of the rooms. It was an office, an office that the would suit royalty better than it did a man who 'worked for the government'. The floor was decorated with a thick Persian carpet, on wooden walls hung several paintings depicting very serious looking men. There were several sofas placed in the room, each one loaded with cushions and in the middle of the room stood a huge oaken desk.

When Mycroft wandered to the desk the sound of his footsteps and cane were muffled by the carpet. He didn't take place behind the desk, but rather took a pen in his hand and started toying with it.

'So, the reason you're here would be my brother I presume, I heard he had a little accident, does he fair well?'

John narrowed his eyes slightly. Of course Mycroft knew if Sherlock was alright or not, he was spying on them both every moment of the day. If Sherlock sprained an ankle, Mycroft knew.

'He says he's fine, but he has a concussion, a bad one, but he takes the painkillers, so I can't complain.' John decided to answer.

'Good, good, hopefully, he will finally learn that shooting strangers in alleyways has consequences.' He carefully placed the pen back in the pencil holder. 'Who am I kidding?' He continued softly. 'He'll never learn.' Mycroft turned to John.

'But why are you here? If you're afraid that the police will try and arrest Sherlock for the shooting, don't worry. I already handled that.'

John didn't bother asking how Mycroft had handled it, he doubted Mycroft would tell him and to be honest, he didn't want to know it anyway. He had bigger things to worry about, he was about to play a game that only Sherlock and Mycroft mastered.

He decided to be straight-forward, an attack.

'Do you believe in monsters, Mycroft?' he asked like, sounding like he just asked what time it was.

At first, Mycroft didn't react, then he slowly raised an eyebrow and smiled.

'Why John, do you have on under your bed? Or maybe in your closet?'

He had parried the question, and not only that, Mycroft tried to make John uncomfortable, making it sound like his question ridiculous, which it kinda was, but John didn't give up.

'Well, not that actually but today somebody told me that he was attacked by one once, and that he had been saved by some monster hunters.' he said, sounding nonchalant

Mycroft snorted.

'What an amusing story, but why you came all the way here to tell me that is beyond me.'

It appeared Mycroft wouldn't give in that easily either, that, or John had really lost his mind, that was also a possibility.

'Well, here is the thing, after he told me that story, he had a mental breakdown, starting shaking and what not. Does that sound like just a funny story to you?'

The man in front of John cocked his head.

'That's a clear sign of paranoia John, no doubt Sherlock would have told you that. Just because a man thinks something is the truth, doesn't mean it actually is.' His voice was serious now.

John's tone changed too, they were past the game stage now.

'No, I don't think it was paranoia, it thinks it was PTSD. And you know, I am pretty sure I am able to recognise to symptoms without Sherlock telling me what they are.'

'PTSD and Paranoia are very similar.'

'But not the same.'

John and Mycroft engaged in a staring combat. Mycroft reading the blogger, and John trying to do the same. He tried every trick Sherlock had taught him, looking for signs of nervousness, doubt, anything. Only, Mycroft wasn't born yesterday and knew how to hide his true feelings, not as well as Sherlock, but good enough to leave the blogger in the dark. Finally, Mycroft looked away, however, not in defeat. The cane landed on the ground again with a soft thud and Mycroft started speaking, sounding uninterested.

'Although I enjoy our time together John, I have more pressing matters to attend to than discuss fairy tales and the symptoms of paranoia with you. I'll have security escort you out, wouldn't want you to get lost now, would we?.'

John clenched his hands together. He couldn't be sent away now! With every word he had said he had become surer of himself, there was more to this story than just a man with paranoia.

'When you think there is a monster in your closet, don't open it, just, leave...'

His sisters words rang through his head. She hadn't been drunk that night, he realised it now. It was now or never. He was desperate, what did it matter he'd be thrown onto the asylum? He had to trust his sister, he had to trust his gut.

'Are monsters real Mycroft?' He blurted out.

There was silence, more silence, then Mycroft frowned and bend forward to him. His voice was, just like the look in his eyes, dead serious

'John, I'm sorry to tell you, but I think you are imagining things, maybe you have spent too much time with my brother or maybe your past in the field has finally caught up to you. It doesn't matter because; Monsters. Aren't. Real. I would suggest you keep your head down for a while, cleanse your mind as they say.'

And with that, Mycroft straightened again and turned his back to him. A clear sign that the conversation was over. Behind him, the door open. No doubt the security Mycroft had called. He felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. Mycroft thought he was crazy, maybe he was crazy, no, wait, scratch that, he was crazy, he was friends with Sherlock after all. And crazies don't give up that easy. He had one last play last, it was a long shot, a terrible long shot, but it was the only thing he had.

'Well then, I'll go, But so you know Mycroft, when I leave this building, I'm going straight to my sister, Harriet Watson, you probably found her name somewhere when you did a check up on me, and know, when I ask her for the truth, she won't lie. She'll tell me everything, and after I know the truth, I'll go straight to Sherlock and tell him what you have been trying to hide from him so long.'

Then John turned around and let himself be escorted out of the room, he was already by the door when Mycroft spoke.

'Wait.'

Bingo.

He turned around to face Mycroft. His friends brother was bend of his desk, hands leaning on the smooth wooden surface. With his head he signed the security guards to leave. After the door closed the Mycroft scanned him for a second time, trying to judge if he had been serious. Unfortunately for him, John had been.

Mycroft sighed and with a slightly weaker voice he asked.

'Why? Why now, what happened?'

'I already told you, it was the man this morning. He told me, and I believed him.'

'And your sister, she warned you about them, did she not?'

John nodded slowly.

'Yes, she did, a long time ago.'

Mycroft brushed his hair through his decreasing hairline. The fact that he wasn't hiding his frustration anymore was a clear sign that he had been defeated. He turned his face towards the window, outside, it slowly started to rain.

'We knew there was a risk that Miss Harriet might've told you, but after our first few meetings it appeared you didn't know. So we didn't act. That you would figure it out yourself, we did not anticipate...'

'So they're real, the monsters?' John asked, wanting to hear the truth.

'Yes, they, and a lot more, it's all real. We've managed to keep it hidden for the public for now, some, of course, figure it out on their own. That's only logical.'

'What do you do to those who find out?' John asked, wondering if he wanted to know.

'We? We do nothing. Most of the times they go crazy and administrate themselves to an asylum, trying to forget what they've seen. Others, like your sister Harriet, become something they call 'hunters'. Their sole purpose in life becomse killing the things in that lurk in the dark.'

Harry, his sister, killed these things? No wonder she was alcoholic... John had to do with her, and couldn't help but wish he had been there for her more. But something else sprung to mind. It was the only explanation that Sherlock wasn't already hunting the things in the dark. The consulting detective had been lied too.

'That's why Sherlock doesn't know... You kept the truth from him, to protect him, otherwise he would want to hunt every single one of the down. Thinking them as a challange and not a threath...'

Mycroft didn't move and kept looking through the window.

'Exactly...' Mycroft spoke softly. 'He would try to kill every single one of them, he would see them as a 'challenge', not a threat. But John, if you've ever thought that humans can be cruel, then you haven't seen the others. If they don't kill you, they'll tear you apart. You've seen what happened to your sister, she's broken, it's a miracle she'd survived as long as she did. So I did what I had to do. I made sure he wouldn't get any case appointed that could be related to the supernatural, when it did happen, I made sure there was somebody to frame. He would never know and go on solving normal murders'

John had to bite back an offence. Yes, Harry might not be an example of perfect mental health, but she wasn't broken. At least, not anymore than he was, or Sherlock even.

He was done here, he knew what he had wanted to know. He didn't exactly know what he would do with the information, but he preferred thinking outside in the fresh here in a room with somebody who could read him like an open book. There was however, one thing he wanted to know, well, he needed to know.

'Mycroft, do you know... do you know what happened to Harry? How she knows?'

This time Mycroft did look at him, his head slightly cocked.

'I don't think it's my place to tell you that.'

'Mycroft, for the same reason you kept the truth from Sherlock, I have to know this. I have to know to understand, to help.' John said, almost pleadingly

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. Then he shook his head. It didn't matter now, John now knew the truth and would find out eventually. If he himself told the story, then maybe he spared poor Harriet having to relive the awful memories again.

'She was 17 and in a relationship with another woman. Becky Smith, age 19. They had been in a relationship for several months when Becky changed. Unbeknownst to them both, she had been bit by a werewolf. What we know is that when the moon cycle was right, she changed. The two were in the same room at the time. Becky attacked your sister. But, how we don't know, Harry managed to kill her. That was the moment she learned that there is more out there than just shadows.' Mycroft explained. 'What happened after that, I'm sure you know.'

John swallowed. At first, he had doubted that his sister was a 'hunter' or had actually killed one of the things. But Mycroft wouldn't lie, not about this. Not about his sister, his blood. Mycroft was a little more serious about family than Sherlock was. He and Harry had a lot to talk about...

John swallowed again. He needed to get out, he had to think, clear his mind. Turning towards the door he put his hands in his pockets. They were finished here, at least, so he thought.

'John, before you go, I have a question for you. How did it happen that the man decided to share his encounter with the supernatural with you?

John faced Mycroft again.

'It's this case we're doing. The man was one of Sherlocks informants, he believed that he knew the two suspects Sherlock and I are after. Said they were hunters and to convince us, he told him his story.' He said, wondering what Sherlock would think about his most trusted friend telling his brother what they were up too.

'Hunters you say? Do you might happen to know the name of the hunters?' Mycroft said, annoyed with himself that he hadn't been able to notice that his brother was chasing hunters around. They were dangerous, not the type of normal prey his little brother toyed with.

John frowned. 'Yes, I believe it was... Winchester? Like the gun.'

Mycroft's eyes widened.

'The Winchesters? Here?' He asked, and if John hadn't known better, he'd sworn he saw a slight shock on the man's face. But that couldn't be possible, I mean, you had to be real dangerous is you wanted to shock Mycroft, and with real dangerous, I mean apocalypse kind of dangerous. John thought pessimistically

'I... I wouldn't know Mycroft..' He as turned towards the door, desperate for the outside. However, when he left the room, Mycroft called after him.

'Steer clear of the Winchester John! If you think that Sherlock attracts trouble, then you haven't met the Winchesters!'

-~o0o~-

'Stupid creatures, with their stupid rules! If you shoot a thing in the heart, it's supposed to die! That's the rule!'

Dean was pacing up and down the room. After they had come back yesterday evening he had been too tired to make a fuss. After a short argument Dean had agreed to Sam bandaging his wounds, first he had screamed.'I'm Fine!' But then Sam reminded him of the one time Dean had stupidly said the same phrase just before collapsing on the ground, unbeknownst to him, he had been poisoned by some ugly creature. Dean had been thinking he was catching a cold. Hey, couldn't blame him for not knowing right? However, Sam would never let him live that down, so every time they started their little routine of patching each other up, Dean would say he was fine, and Sam would just ignore him.

One time actually, Dean had been hunting a Kitsune and the bitch had actually managed to get a hit on him. As a thank you for attacking her in her house she had left three large, but shallow gashes on his chest. Dean didn't think little more of them as annoying, maybe even a little painful, but really, nothing important. So he had gone back to the motel and hadn't really thought about telling Sam about his wounds on the cell. When he entered the room, Sam lost his shit. He still had been bleeding a fair bit, so it looked like he had just stepped straight out of a Kill Bill scene. The two brothers had gotten in this huge fight, ending that Dean refused Sam letting treat his wounds. Of course, his stubborn brother wouldn't stand for that. That night ended with Sam having a black eye and a couple of other bruises, and Dean having his shirt ripped off and his wrists tightly bound together with the shreds of his destroyed shirt. Of course Sam had gotten his way and had managed to bandage the wounds. Fucking asshole.

Dean didn't really fancy repeating that night, so he had allowed Sam to clean the puncture holes. After that, they had both showered and tried to figure out where the sphinx had gone, Dean had searched the internet for clues and old similar cases most of the night, eventually falling asleep, and Sam had gone out and tried to find a trace of the sphinx. No luck for either of them. When Sam had arrived home he miraculously had managed to sneak in so quietly his brother kept sleeping in the sofa. Deciding that they couldn't really do more that night (It had been near 4 AM when Sam had arrived home) Sam had stripped off his clothes and tried to get a few hours of precious sleep before they started their hunt tomorrow again. Dean, of course, hadn't been pleased when he learned that Sam had let him sleep, and even less that he had fallen asleep in the first place.

So now Dean was pacing up and down the room and having one of his rants, frustrated that they had lost the trail and that it was becoming colder as they sat here and did nothing.

'I mean, you shoot a deer in the heart, it dies, rabbit, dies, even a damn werewolf dies when you drill a bullet in his heart. But those stupid mythical beasts have to have some kind of dumb ass ritual to put them down!'

Sam had his head buried in his hands and was staring at the floor, he wasn't even listening. Dean had woken him up three hours later after he had gone to sleep, so it wasn't like he was rested, hell, he was even more tired than when he went to sleep. And now, even before they had gotten out for breakfast, Dean had slipped into a foul mood that indicated he wouldn't stop whining any time soon. Wondering if his brother would notice if he fell asleep right now, he started to nod off.

'Oh, I can't wait till that stupid bitch shows her face again. Riddle or no riddle, I doubt she will do anything if I put her ugly face through a meat grinder.'

Sam softly snorted, maybe that would actually work, however, he doubted he could find a meat grinder big enough to fit a whole lion through in such a short notice. She had said that she would come after him after all, after she had dealt with another- ... shit.

Sam bolted upright and brushed his hands trough his hair. Shit shit shit, they had been so busy trying to catch the damn thing, that they had totally forgot that they weren't the only one on her to-do list. She had said it herself!

''I'll find you, you are lucky you are second...'

'What has gotten into you suddenly?' Dean asked. He had stopped pacing when his brother suddenly jumped from his chair, realisation clearly showing on Sam's face.

'You know where to find the bastard?'

'What? No!' Sam shot at his brother when he was pulled from his thoughts. He quickly went around their room and started searching for his jacket. 'You remember what she said yesterday? Before we bolted? She said that she would come after us, but after she had dealt with another person! Dean, she's still out there!'

Dean then remembered what the creature had shouted at them before they left the museum. Shit, Sammy was right. But to be honest, that didn't really change anything at their current situation, they still didn't know where the overgrown hairball was hiding. However, Sammy didn't seem to have realised that yet. Dean sighed.

'Sam, what were you gonna do? We still don't know where the fuckface is hiding, so charging off into the city won't do us any good.' Weird, it was usually Sam that said those things.

'Yes, But we can't just sit here and do nothing, Dean!' Sam exclaimed as he abandoned his search for his jacket.

'I mean, it could literally kill anybody, you've read the lore, anybody who doesn't pass the test will get killed, Hell, with our luck that thing is hunting some kid through the alleys while we're sitting here!'

'Yeah? And what were you gonna do about it mastermind?! I repeat, we don't know where she is!' Dean said, hoping to drill some sense in his thick-headed brother. Dean might be the shoot-first-ask-questions-later guy, when Sam thought that there were innocents at risk, he could be as bad as his brother. He watched as his little brother took a big breath.

'Okay, then we have to find her.' Sam simply said, calming down.

'How were gonna do that, geek boy? We searched for her the whole night and we found jack.'

This time, Sam started pacing.

'So, she's after those who solved her riddle right? So has met all of her victims before, to ask them her riddle. Kevin thought that she found her victims in the museum, because she thinks that is a treasure she must try to guard, for some reason.'

Sam's forehead scrunched in thought and he turned to Dean.

'Did you read anything about the timespan the vics were killed after they went to the museum in Kevin's journal?' He asked his brother.

'Uhh, wait, let me have a look.' Dean said and quickly grabbed the leather book from the kitchen counter. He flipped to the last pages, from where Kevin had stated that he had noticed some odd murders. He glanced at every page briefly as he read about Kevin last days alive. First Kev had thought it had been a shapeshifter who just liked gutting people, but then he had started to connect everyone to the museum. And eventually Dean found what he had been looking for. There were three rows of words on the page. First row, unmistakably names. Second row, that was named BM DATE (Dean guessed BM stood for British museum) consisted of dates written down next to most of the names. The third row was named R.I.P, Dean didn't need to guess what that meant.

'Well, Kev thinks that the sphinx killed her vics within three days after they visited the museum.'

'Three days... Then we still have time, we have to hope that like every other cat she hunts at night...' Sam said slowly.

'So we have to find the next vic today.' Dean finished as he closed the journal.

'Exactly.' his brother confirmed.

'Great.' Dean said, a tiny bit annoyed. Why couldn't they just have a bit more time to do their damn job?

Sam eyes lit up and a smile slowly crept on his brothers face.

'... And I know how were going to do that.'

-o-o-o-

'Yes, of course the British Museum will be shown in all its glory.' Sam said to the person he was calling with, that being, one of the chiefs of the museum.

'What? Best place to do research on history in England? Well, not everybo-' Dean saw his brother roll his eyes but then nod, as if the person who he was talking to could actually see it.

'No, No, If you insist we will describe your archive that way'. Sam said, managing not to sound annoyed. He was pretending to be a journalist for a news website that was conducting a research of archives in Britain, it was very big, Sam had told him. They were researching how big each archive was, how many files they had, and if they were used for research. They had of course been very interested in the British museums archive and really wanted to know more about it, like, how many times was it visited this year already? Oh, and if it wasn't too much of a bother, they liked a list of the most recent visitors, you know, for interviews. What was their opinion about the archive? Had it been useful if for the archive? And of course if they had been riddled by some kind of half lion creature. You know, normal stuff.

Fortunately for Sam, the director was buying it. He would happily give the info, even a small list of the visitors last month. But in return they had to describe their archive like it was a holy place on earth. No other news-based media would agree with the term, because it made the article seem corrupt, but of course Sam's website was happy to agree.

'Oh yes. As for the visitors. There haven't been many the last time, with summer ending and all. But you are in luck! There have been three visitors this last month. I believe... Ah yes! Here is the list, Anne Young, Thom Baker and William Carter. Oh, and some kind of agent. But more than that I can't possibly tell! Because of right of privacy, of course, you'd understand. Now, for the rest of the article-.'

And the man started listing all of the demands for the article again. But Sam didn't mind, it wasn't like that article would be published anyway and it gave him a few seconds to think. Thom Baker, he knew that name. Then he remembered why. That name was written on Kevin's wall, right under a picture of a picture of a mangled body missing an arm and a part of his jaw. He also recognised Kevin's alias, when they had arrived back at the motel yesterday evening, Sam had gone trough all the things Kevin had on him when he got killed. Including the fake ID's he had. Now, Anne Young, Sam didn't know that name. It could be the next target of the sphinx, but somehow, he doubted that. The man had listed every person ranked from first to visit this month, to last. At least, that is what he guessed. And it would be very odd for the sphinx to kill William if she still had to deal with Anne. Sam figured the sphinx liked order, and to kill her vics at a random order didn't fit profile. It appeared Annie had dodged a bullet and answered the riddle correct. That left the agent...

Sam interrupted the man who was still rattling on about his article, hoping that the man wouldn't refuse to answer such an odd question.

'Yes, sir, of course, we will do that, but one thing. About the agent, if I may ask, why was he there? Just curious.'

'Oh, uhm.' The man sounded slightly confused by the sudden change of subject. 'I believe, he was here to look into some files another visitor had seen as well. But that isn't important right?'

'Oh no, no, as I said, just curious... But one last thing, you might know the name of the agent...?'

'He is listed here as Bobby Singer, but mister, I fail to see the...' The man continued to talk, but Sam's head shortcuted. Bobby Singer. His own alias. Then he remembered the two men they had seen shortly before encountering the sphinx. No... could it actually be that Sherlock guy was using the ID he had stolen from him to get around? That was just plain taunting him. And that wasn't even the worst thing Sam thought darkly. That guy was now most likely the next target of the sphinx, and he didn't have a clue. If he was right, then the case just became ten times more difficult, like the universe decided that the brothers hadn't encountered enough trouble in England already.

Coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't get anymore useful info out of the museum employee, he quickly ended the call.

'Oh yes sir, no problem, we will contact you when the article is online, thank you for you co-operation!' Sam said hastily.

'Wait! What abo-'

But it was already to late. Sam didn't wait for the response to finish and snapped his phone shut. With a sigh he tossed the device on the bed. To be honest, he dreaded telling his brother what he had just learned. But unfortunately for Sam, his brother was quite the curious type.

'So? Did you find our next vic?' Dean called from where he stood leaning to the kitchen counter.

Sam took a moment to take a deep breath, preparing for the debate that was inevitable to follow. The younger Winchester wasn't completely stupid. He had seen the expression of Dean's face change to a scowl everytime the man in trenchcoat was mentioned. After a short moment, Sam straightened his face. Guessing that pretending that the ordeal wasn't such of a big deal was his best chance, he turned around and faced his brother.

'Yes! Actually I did.' He said carelessly. 'Well, not really, though.' He continued, and he braced himself for impact. 'But I think it's a man pretending to be agent, under the name 'Bobby Singer'.' Sam said, and he watched as Dean furrowed his brow.

'What would Bobby-'

Then his eyes widened.

'Wait, wasn't that your...?

'Jep.'

'The one that got swiped?'

'Jep.'

'You actually think that the fucking Sam Spade wannabe is the next victim?' Dean said, sounding like the mere suggestion was just ridiculous.

'Well, either he or his compa-'

'FOR FUCKS SAKE. Why does that guy just keep appearing everywhere we go!' Dean shouted angrily as he threw his hands slightly in the air. Yes, sure, he had planned on making a little visit to 221B Bakerstreet to set a few things right, but having to save a man you planned on beating the shit out, made it a little more difficult. But on the other hand, he could always just let the sphinx do that for him...

Apparently, his little brother could suddenly read minds, or he was just really good at guessing what Dean was thinking. Because as soon the thought crossed his mind, Sam crossed his arms and said.

'No way Dean, were not just gonna leave him helpless!'

'Ah come on Sammy, that guy is definitely not helpless. And besides that, he shot you.' Dean snapped back.

Sam rolled his eyes.

'Dean, It's not like I've never been shot before! and beside that I-' He wanted to continue but his brother didn't let him

'Yeah Sammy, you've been shot before! And you know what happened to the people who pulled the trigger? Well, I do! Those guys and their sorry asses are now buried ten feet under the ground!' Dean shouted.

But Sam wouldn't give in that easy. He stepped a little closer to his steaming brother.

'Well, you know what I remember? I remember you...' Sam said as he pointed towards to Deans chest. ' telling me that we not only 'Hunt things' but also 'Save people'. You know, 'family business.' He added to prove his point.

Dean narrowed his brothers. Stupid lawyer brother using his owns words against him. One of the Winchester famous staring competitions started. And after a few moments, it was Dean who had to avert his eyes.

'Fine, have it your way.' He grumbled at Sam, who looked far too happy, having beaten his brother yet again. But Dean wasn't finished yet.

'But after we find a way to save that son of a bitch, he better start praying that somebody else saves his smug face from me.' He growled darkly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, the plot thickens, again, I think...Hope that Sheryl and Dean become friends soon, otherwise this might not end well... Muahahah!
> 
> If you have any qeustions, feel free to ask! I love them! and I love you guys, oh, look at me being all Emo-touchy-feelings as Dean would put it. Mycroft was quite the challenge to get right, because he's like Sherlock, but with feelings of empathy and stuff. Not the easiest guy to write!
> 
> See you (Hopefully) in a week! if not, then I will update as soon as I'm able too!
> 
> Party on and Peace out xx


	11. Well, that could've gone a lot smoother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long story short: Life happened and alas I couldn't work on this story! *raises fist* Damn you life!
> 
> Kinda short chapter, as it is a little bit of a filler.

John wandered through the London streets. He had called his sister about an hour ago, but she hadn't answered. She rarely did, but that didn't ease his mind. At first, he wanted to rush to her house, make sure she was alright. However, just before he had called for a taxi he remembered the last time he had dared to visit his sister. It hadn't lasted long, it had been awkward. She wasn't completely there yet, still hungover from the night before. In the end, his sister had thrown him out of the house after she had grabbed for the bottles again. That was just after he had been released from the hospital after he had been shot in the field. That night, he hadn't had anywhere to go. His parents were no option, he and Harry had estranged from them long ago. And to be honest, he had lost contact with his sister not much later. But when he walked out of the hospital he realised he had nothing here, and he remembered how Harry had taught him how to skip stones across the lake and how to play poo-sticks in the river. But after that visit, those memories faded. The echo of the slamming door and the howling wind of a cold night replaced the visions of the past. And it was that night, when he was alone and wandered towards the city center, he could be seen walking with a small limp. After a week, it had been impossible to walk without a cane. He had emigrated to London fourteen days later, burned on making a living for himself. He had tried, he had. John went to therapy for his PTSD, visited the doctors for his limp. Desperately tried to start anew, but it was in those months that he had felt utterly alone and empty. And that feeling wouldn't leave him for a long time, not until he and Sherlock had spent a whole night chasing a cab in London hoping to catch a serial killer.

After his team up with Sherlock, he hadn't seen his sister. Yes, a few times John had tried calling her, you know, just to make sure she was still breathing. But as he raised his hand to stop the cab, the memory of his sister demanding the he'd leave the house this instant shot through his head and he slowly lowered his hand He wanted to visit his sister, but that would take a little more time than he had now. The situation here in London was still a mess. Sherlock was trying to solve a murder and catch two of US most wanted criminals, who just happened to not be death. And that wasn't the only thing, it so happened that those criminals were not really criminals but monster hunters. Oh, and Sherlock didn't know that monster existed but his big brother was afraid that Sherlock would go crazier than ever and try and hunt down every one of them. However, John had figured out the truth and couldn't possibly return to Sherlock in the state he was now in. It was impossible to hide things for the consulting detective. It was a mortal flaw in Mycroft's plan. He had hoped that John wouldn't tell Sherlock the truth, but it appeared that Mycroft had forgotten that his younger brother had the same skill he possessed. However, that didn't mean he couldn't try. And to be honest, even if he told Sherlock but didn't have any proof, he doubted Sherlock would believe him. The only reason he himself believed the ridiculous stories was because of Harry. Sherlock had already encountered the supernatural, yet he hadn't believed it. It was a good sign, maybe John could hide the truth a little longer than he thought he had been capable of doing in the first place. If he could just calm down, get used to the idea, maybe it was possible to just forget the whole ordeal. Pretend like nothing had changed, after all, it wasn't like John had ever seen a monster himself, right? And Mycroft had taken it upon himself to keep the things in the dark away from his brother, so it wasn't like he had to deal with them from now on.

Deciding that trying that visiting Harry wasn't his top priority and that returning to the museum in this state would certainly give away to Sherlock that something was wrong he turned away from the street. He needed some time for himself, and John knew one thing that always could calm him down. A nice cup of tea. And that was exactly what he needed right now, just a nice cuppa at home in his chair with some lovely music in the background. No Sherlock, No Harry, No Mycroft, No murders, No monsters. That sounded the right thing to do right now. It wasn't too far of a walk, and although it was raining a little he preferred walking at this moment. When in the army, you didn't have another choice. You saw stuff that if you thought about for too long made you lose your mind, cripple you mentally if you didn't keep moving. So moving on you did, and when John lingered to because the lifeless body of a toddler caught his eye, one of his comrades would come next to him and slap him on the back.

'We have to keep moving John, come on.'

And then he would gently lead him away from the awful sight. John would fall in line again, and that was that. One step after another. Right, left, right, left. Walking had helped hem staying sane at the worst time of his life, so it would keep him sane now. Left, right, left, right. And so John lost himself in the rhythm of his pace. And slowly but surely, his feet brought him home.

John halted before the door and sniffed in the smell of freshly baked goods from the pastry store next to his apartment. John considered hopping into the shop to get a something for himself and maybe even Sherlock for later the day. Mrs. Hudson wasn't home today as she had to go to a funeral of an old friend. Sadly the person had passed away from a heart attack, and Sherlock had told him after she had left that he wondered why she had bothered going, as it was blatant to him that the two had rarely talked in the last few years even less have something resembling a friendship and that led to them two having a conversation about funerals and why paying your respects to a deceased person is something you ought to do, even if you think funerals and all the other unnecessary commotion and fake caring is all just a facade and not worthy of one time, as Sherlock put it. Anyhow, it meant that Mrs. Hudson wasn't home at the time, and because of that she wouldn't be able to provide them with tea and biscuits. Something that Sherlock claimed to be annoying, that Mrs Hudson would always come walking into their room with a full serving tray, because she was their landlady and not their housekeeper, but despite that John had noticed that whenever Mrs. Hudson was a little later than normal with the tea that Sherlock had shot glances at the door. (If he wasn't occupied with any of his experiments, that is)

John liked his tea and biscuits. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be able to provide any, so it was up to him. Just when he was about to enter the little pastry shop a flash of lightning blinded him for a second and the sound of thunder shook the street. John looked up to the sky, it was darker than ever and promised more rain very soon, maybe even a small storm. Nothing unusual in London. As his eyes trailed to the ground again something made him freeze. There, the window of their apartment. The curtain had moved. He was sure of it. For a second he didn't' move it, then reason kicked in. It could have been a mere draft? Maybe he hadn't closed the window properly when closing it yesterday evening? Yet, years in the field and months with Sherlock had taught him to never dismiss a gut feeling. He might be crazy, paranoid even. But better safe than sorry, as his mates always used to say. He decided to proceed with caution.

After a small second of hesitation he took the key out of the pocket and slowly turned the lock. With minimum sound the door opened and he was met with a dark corridor and the familiar stairs. John kept his eyes locked on the door above the stairs while he slowly bent his knees to get closer the floor. He was now glad that he had decided to hide Sherlock guns under the little side table next to the door. He had used duck tape to secure it underneath the table top. It took some effort getting the thing loose and keeping his eyes focused on the door above him, but he'd rather not be taken by surprise. Even if he took his eyes from the door only for a second, it could turn the tides. A lot can happen in a second. Finally he could wrench the gun free. He stripped off the remainder of the ducktape from the gun and stood upright again, never left his eyes the shadowed door.

After being in dubio for a second, he decided that he would keep the door open. Yes, if there was actually somebody in his apartment and his wasn't a paranoia veteran then the open door would make an escape for the burglar a lot easier, but on the other hand, if he closed the door it would risk making noise and alerting the potential burglar. And he rather have the burglar escape than him standing ready for him behind the door.

John took a deep breath and readied himself. He started ascending the stairs, gun raised. He was halfway when it went wrong. As he lowered his feet on one of the steps it made a horrible creaking noise. Being the only sound aside from the soft pouring rain, it was deafening. John halted and didn't move a muscle. With wide eyes he stared at the door and started counting to ten while he stood frozen in the darkness. When nothing happened he finally released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It could be possible that the burglar hadn't heard him? It also could be possible be that he had. And of course, the most likely thing was that there actually wasn't a burglar...

John bit his lip for a second but then collected himself again. Steadying his breath again, he walked slowly walked up the last few steps. Inside he could hear shuffling sounds and even a muffled curse. John's muscles tightened. He had been right, there was somebody in their home! Abandoning all reason at that very moment John braced himself and kicked the door in.

With a loud bang the door slammed open and John bolted in. There, right before him stood a man wearing a leather jacket with short spiky hair. John immediately noticed the gun tucked into the belt of the man. HIS gun. The man before him had his hands already raised and looked at him with wide eyes.

'HEY hey hey! Easy! You wouldn't want that thing going off!' The spiky haired man shouted as he took a step back.

John narrowed his eyes. Then it hit him. This was the same guy from the morgue, the same guy he had given chase to two days ago. What was he doing in his house?

Steadying his stance he was just about to ask that when years of fighting experience kicked in. The man he had his gun pointed at had flicked his eyes to something just behind him. Without thought, John let himself drop to the ground, narrowingly missing the fist of the other brother that had appeared out of the kitchen. As he landed on the ground he kicked at the shins of the longer man behind him and rolled out of the way. The man behind him could avoid his kick barely by jumping backwards. However, he hadn't anticipated the lounging chair behind him and with sprawling limbs he crashed into it.

That left John a few seconds to focus on the man in front of him. Using his momentum from the roll John managed to stand upright again. The man in the leather jacket had now drawn his gun and was already raising it to point at John. But he wasn't easily intimidated, not slowing down or hesitating he raised left leg and did a roundhouse kick, aiming for the gun of his opponent. When he landed the kick the man cursed loudly and the gun went flying and clattered against the wall. However, before John could stabilize himself again the leather jacket ran into him with more speed than he had given him credit for. The two smashed into the door frame and John could hear something break. In the process, John lost his gun and the two were now struggling for control. Immediately John could feel that his adversary was stronger than he was, he had more muscle mass and was bigger lengthwise. If the struggle continued for the long John would certainly pull the short end. He had to get the man of him. With a lot of effort, John was able to get one of his arms free and with the force he had left he elbowed the man in the chest, making him gasp for air and curse some more. For a second the man loosened his grip and that was all John needed, he twisted his body around and threw himself to the opposing wall. Unfortanly for him, the man had recovered faster than he had expected and was able to hold onto his jacket. This threw them both off balance and after a few stumbled passes the two went crashing to the ground. Still in the air John managed to angle himself this way that he would land on his side instead of his stomach.

A pain exploded from the side of his head and his whole body went limp. As his vision became blurred he saw the wood of the desk his head just slammed into, somewhere in his head he noticed that he could already feel warm blood trickling down the side of his head. His vision became darker with every passing second as he slid to the ground, his opponent still holding him. The last thing he saw before he lost conscious was the yellow smiley Sherlock had drawn out of boredom on the wall.

Then it went black and there was nothing.

-0-0-0-

Sam slowly climbed out of the chair and looked at the mess in front of him. Several furniture pieces were knocked down, the door frame had a huge crack in it and Dean was bent over the man that had taken them by surprise only a few moments ago. The blond man now laid limply against the desk under the window and appeared to be completely unconscious. Blood was slowly trickling down the side of his head. It appeared that Dean had managed to stir the man into the direction of the desk but judging from the expression he had on his face it hadn't been his intent to knock him out like that. Dean slowly rose off and released him hesitantly, as if expecting the man to suddenly spring to live again and to start kicking. But it was clear to Sam that this wouldn't happen anytime soon

Dean now looked around and noticed the mess they hade made from the apartment. Then he looked down at the still figure on the ground again. Sucking in air through his teeth he turned to his brother.

'Well, that could've gone a lot smoother...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes Dean, yes it could've. But what would've been the fun in that?!
> 
> What did 2/3 of team free will in Backerstreet? What are they going to do with poor John and what is ol' Sherlock up to? You'll find out next time! whenever I can update!
> 
> I'll try my best to update as often as I can. Writing is something that I love and it saddens me that I just can't have all they days off and write write write write. You guys, are the best, I love you! THANKS FOR THE FAVS AND STUFF AND SEE YOU HOPEFULLY VERY SOON
> 
> *raises fist* THIS STORY WILL NEVER BE ABANDONED!
> 
> Have a nice day/night! :)
> 
> Peace out and party on xxx


	12. This man is a first class nutbag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT? ANOTHER UPDATE?
> 
> YES! Think as this one as an apology that the other one took so long to make!
> 
> Thanks to everybody who read the last chapter and didn't mind coming back after such a long time. And thanks to those who reviewed/faved/followed. Thanks to you this story is being made! :D
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Well... the same as each other chap, violence and swearing :P (Thnx Dean)

a little earlier that day

-=o0o=-

'How do you actually know where those two live?' Sam asked as the two of them walked through the city. It was raining slightly. Not enough to bother Sam, but enough to annoy the crap outta Dean. He was cursing the London weather and London people and London sphinxes and all the stupid stereotypes that happened to be true when the words of his brother interrupted his thought.

'What? Oh, Bobby told me.'

'oh.'

Then Sam frowned.

'Wait, how'd Bobby know?'

Dean glanced at his brother, but after that kept walking and looking straight ahead.

'Didn't I tell you? Trenchcoats sidekick likes to write blogs about their murder mysteries. When doing some research for a case Bobby stumbled upon it, that's how he knew. For some reason, people actually like reading that crap and the creep is a minor celebrity here in London.'

'So you didn't do any research on your own?'

Dean slowed his pace slightly as he was a little taken aback.

'What?

'I'm not a moron Dean, most of the time when you don't like somebody that somebody ends up with a black eye or ,more often than not, worse.' Sam said as he slowed down too.

'Most of the time they deserve it tough!' Dean shot back.

Sam rolled his eyes.

'Whatever, that doesn't matter now. We are on a job right now, that means no screwing around. We need that ''creep'' and the other guy to work with us if we wanna catch that sphinx.'

Dean huffed and halted completely. He crossed his arms and blocked his brother from walking any further.

'And how did you wanna achieve that?' He said, making it clear that he really didn't believe that Sam had any good answer for his question.

Sam too, stood still and shot Dean an irritated look.

'Well, we'll figure something out. I'm sure we can make them see reason.'

'Ha!' Dean scoffed. 'Yes, of course, that Sherlock dude looks like a real reasonable man to me.' the sarcasm was dripping from his voice. Sam wasn't impressed tough.

'He's a detective right? Well, if presented the facts correctly he must see that we are speaking the truth! Hell, he isn't the first person we told about it.'

Dean shot a desperate shot to the sky, as if praying to any good wanting to listen to put him in a situation any other than this mess.

'Whatever, keep dreaming sunny boy.' He mumbled and started walking again. But he was stopped when Sam called his name.

'Dean.'

Suppressing the urge to sigh very loudly he turned around for a second time.

'What.' Dean snapped.

Sam did a step towards him.

'Promise me you won't do anything stupid when we meet them, just, leave the talking to me and stand back.' the longer brother insisted.

For a second neither of them moved. The rain slowly fell upon the ground and on the other side of the street a man with black umbrella hurried into one of the many buildings and the two were alone again.

Dean shortly squinted and gave in.

'Fine.' he managed to squeeze out of his tightened jaw. And he was about to turn around again when he thought off something. He spun towards his brother again and pointed his finger at his chest.

'But when they won't listen to us, or that Sherlock dude starts pointing guns at us again. Then we do it my way.'

Sam's eyes widened slightly.

'And what may your way be?' He asked, sounding slightly alarmed.

A small smirk appeared on Dean's face.

'Lock em up and wait till the sphinx shows itself.'

'Use them as bait, you mean.' Sam emphasized while frowning. He didn't like that idea. Using people as bait wasn't the way he handled things...

'That's exactly what I mean.' Dean retorted, not budging an inch.

'But-'

'Look Sam, I'm not discussing this! What other options do we have when your plan fails? Getting a mediator? No Sam, those two people are the only lead we have as to where the Sphinx will strike next and as you said yourself; we are on a job and supposed to take care of this things. And if using them as bait is the only way to it, then hell yeah I'm willing to do it.' Dean shot back.

Sam bit his lip. Dean was right, they were here to do a job. But that didn't mean he approved of using actual living human beings as mere bait, putting them at risk. But the stubborn look on his brother's face told him that there was no point arguing. He hesitantly nodded. Dean raised his chin slightly.

'Good. Let's go.' Dean said and he curtly turned around as he started off towards Backerstreet. Sam could only follow.

-o-o-o-

'It's seems like this is it.'

Sam stood with his brother before a dark blue painted door decorated with a golden doorknocker along with a the golden sign stating that this was indeed 221B. The smell of baked goods filled the air and left Dean eager to go next door instead.

'That smells like some good pie.' He said, almost mouth-watering.

'Dean, focus. We only got one shot for a first impression.'

'Yeah, and we blew it.' Dean snorted.

'You know what I mean.' Sam said as he shortly glared at his brother.

Ignoring his brother foul look Dean motioned towards the door with his head.

'Well, go ahead Sammy, go and do your magic.' He said with an almost smug look on his face. Because Sammy was shooting dark looks towards him he knew that he wasn't so sure about his plan either. And to be honest, he totally shouldn't be. They were about to walk into the house of a happy trigger maniac. They had absolutely no reason to believe that this man wouldn't just come out running with guns blazing the moment they knocked. And even if that wasn't the case, then they still had to make trenchcoat believe that he or his friend was being chased down by an ancient Greek/Egyptian creature that actually didn't exist, in their mind anyway. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

After shooting his brother a last angry look Sam shook his hesitation off him and overbridged the last few steps towards the door. He could feel that his brother followed him, not willing to let his brother face the threat alone. He was now right in front of the door. He took a deep breath. This wasn't the worst situation they were been in, hell, it wasn't even close. But a little nervousness keeps the mind sharp. You shouldn't let it cripple you, but you also shouldn't banish it completely. And with that in mind, Sam reached out and grabbed the door knocker. When he lifted it he noticed that it was far more heavy than you'd expect in the first place, so when he realised it you could hear the bang clearly echo trough the building. If anybody was home, they'd heard that.

Unbeknownst to him, Dean's fingers slowly reached for his gun.

They waited for a second, for several seconds. For half a minute. For a minute. Nothing happened. The two brother shared a look. Then they'd switched places. Now it was Dean who was in front. Sam let his eyes go around the street as he quickly scouted the area. There were a few people around, but all had their head pointed at the ground and were pulled back into their oversized coats as they tried to avoid the rain. None of them seemed to notice the two strange man standing before the apartment. He gave Dean the signal that the coast was clear and immediately Dean reached for his picklock. After a few seconds the could both hear a satisfying 'click' and the door was open.

After they'd entered they found themselves in a completely silent hallway. There was no light switched on, so when Sam closed the door behind them they were plunged into darkness. Before them let a small stairway to another door. That was the way they'd needed to go. Before Dean could make a move Sam was already on the stairs. Shooting daggers to his brothers back Dean was right behind him. It wasn't hard to guess why Sam wanted to go first, and knowing that his brother didn't trust him to handle the situation as he had promised a little earlier annoyed the crap out of him. He ignored the fact that his hand was still dangerously close to the gun which was tugged into his belt.

Before entering Sam laid his head against the door, listening for any sounds inside. When he didn't hear anything he gave a sign to his brother and slowly opened the door.

At first glance the apartment looked like any other. You know, from the dark brown tapestry to the two cozy looking lounging chair and couch. There were a television and a small coffee table. Nothing out of the ordinary, that was, until the second look It was then when he started to noticing the things not so ordinary. Starting with the drawn yellow smiley on the wall accompanied with bullet holes. That didn't shout 'ordinary' to him. Cautiously he entered and already Dean was standing next to him, observing every little aspect of the room like Sam just had. His eyes lingered for a short while on the skeleton on the pedestal but eventually also came to rest on the smiley drawn on wall. He too noticed the bullet holes.

'Well, that is not disturbing at all.' the older brother noted duly

He turned towards Sam.

'How much you wanna bet that thing is Trenchcoats work?' He said sounding kinda smug, having found another thing supporting his theory that the man was just an ordinary crazy.

Sam had to admit that the bullet hole riddled smiley was indeed a bit unsettling. But they had a job to do. The men they were searching weren't home. But maybe they could find something that could lead to them.

'Let's get to work.' He said, ignoring his brother's bet. He walked further into the living area and started to inspect the bookcase.

'You're no fun at all.' Dean muttered under his breath, but he too, started his search for clues.

Sam noticed that only a small portion of the books were fiction. Most of the books were either science, manuals of medical books. Whatever fiction books there were present, were all horror*. It wasn't really something to be worried about. Maybe they didn't like reading fiction? But why only horror? There weren't any other of the more classic books. Hell, there wasn't even a Harry Potter book, and wasn't it kinda against the law in England to not owning one of them?

Meanwhile, Dean had wandered into the kitchen. Again, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary at first glance. But then you started to notice things. The small burn marks, the odd smell and a few unidentified devices. At second look, this kitchen looked more like an unused lab than a place where you prepared meals. And that odd smell, what was that? It seemed to come out of the fridge...

He reached for the kitchen door and when it opened the disgusting stench hit him in the face.

'What the fuck?!' He exclaimed loudly. Half a second later Sam was next to him and together they stared to the horror scene in the fridge. Between the normal groceries which you expect in a fridge there stood several jar with organs in unidentified fluids. Sam could easily identify a heart, liver, kidney and more. Yes, this defiantly crossed the ''odd' line straight into ''motherfucking weird'' . Then an idea popped into Dean's mind and he slammed the fridge door shut.

'I swear if this guy is a witch then you, nor anybody else will stop me from going after him.' He said almost growling.

'Well, if that is the case I'm a hundred percent with you.' Sam reassured him. He took breath before finishing his sentence. 'But we mustn't jump to conclusions.' He finished, bracing for the inevitable angry answer from his brother.

'Jumping to conclusion?! This man is a first class nutbag! After all we've seen of him you are still defending him? Unbelievable Sam! I can't believe it!' Dean roared.

Sam raised his hands in a calming manner. 'I'm not saying he is completely normal-'

'No, of course this isn't normal!' Dean interrupted him, but Sam ignored him.

'-But that doesn't mean he's a witch. I mean, Bobby has a lot of this stuff too and he isn't a witch.'

'Yeah, but I wouldn't call Bobby sane either.' Dean huffed.

'Dean! That's not, not what I mean... I'm just saying that it means he's a witch! That's all. Let's, Let's just keep digging okey?' Sam said pleadingly, he really didn't want to start a fight with his brother right now. Before Dean could answer he continued.

'Why don't you check out the living room then I'll check out the bedrooms.'

For a moment Dean didn't move. Not really wanting to let the issue of fucking organs in the fridge go. But Sam had already disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Dean alone.

'Dickhead.' The older brother whispered into the thin air

Back into the living room he noticed several things. One; There was a violin. two; There was a laptop case leaning against the bookcase.

Yahtzee.

'Hey! Wizzkid, I found something for you!' He shouted towards the direction Sam had disappeared too. Dean picked up the laptop and put it in clear sight for Sam to find. After that, he loudly continued his search for anything indicating where the two men they were searching for were or something that would prove his witch theory

Sam walked into the living area again and right away he spotted the laptop case he had missed earlier. That could come in handy. After he noticed that Dean wasn't working all to silently, knocking as many things out of place as he could (probably trying to establish some kind of dominance, saying that he didn't respect Sherlocks stuff) Sam decided that he would the kitchen would do for his work space this moment. There he wouldn't be disturbed by his brother childish behaviour.

Carefully to not touch any of the displayed devices he sat dawn at the kitchen table. To his relief, it didn't take for the laptop to fire up and it hadn't been secured with a password. First, he went trought the files. Some of them were articles about murders or other crimes. Some were called ''The science of deduction'' He tried reading a few, they seemed interesting, but the information was presented in such a dull way that it didn't take long before he gave up. Then he found the blog posts. These were far more interesting. They told about consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and his assistant doctor John Watson. It told the story how Sherlock had dragged John out on the street trying to catch killers. How they had chased a cab through all London with no success. It told about how Sherlock handled, how he worked and what he did. With every passing sentence, Sam became more engrossed into the story. He almost couldn't believe what he was reading. I mean, this stuff couldn't be true, right? And if it was, then this Sherlock wasn't a witch at all, he was a genius! A kinda weird genius, but a genius nonetheless.

Suddenly he couldn't help but think about how good of a hunter this guy would be... I mean, he could tell in what part of London a guy had been by the mud on the shoe! No monster hiding as human could hide from him, that was for sure...

After reading several other blog posts Sam was pulled back to reality. He was supposed to find out where Sherlock and John were now, not read about their past adventures! He had come to know a fair bit about them, but that wouldn't be of use if they couldn't find the two. He opened the web browser, maybe he had they had an agenda online? The quickest way to find out was the web browser history. So with a few clicks he was presented a whole list of the last visisited websites by this IP adress. And he didn't like what he saw.

Two of the US most wanted criminals up in flames

The story of how two young brothers became the curse of many US citizens

Sam & Dean Winchester, was it their fault or their fathers?

The tragic story of the Winchester brothers

John Winchester, the father that turned two brothers into monsters

List of crimes: Winchester, S

List of crimes: Winchester, D

His eyes widened. That didn't look good. With a sour taste in his mouth he scrolled down, only to find more sites which told the ''tragic story of how two brothers were dragged down by their fathers misery.' This wasn't good, this really wasn't good. How did Sherlock know who they were? The man had only seen them once, once! And now he knew almost everything that was available about them. After all he had read about Sherlock, it still hadn't prepared for this. This was a dangerous situation, very dangerous. What if Sherlock decided to let the world know that the two of them were still alive? They'd have to start running again, and to be fair. Sam was very much done with that.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed that Dean had dropped something and started cursing.

*BAM*

The sound of the door slamming open made Sam literally jump.

'HEY hey hey! Easy! You wouldn't want that thing going off!' He heard Dean shout

Without a second of hesitation Sam rushed towards the living area. There he was greeted by the sight of Dean standing at gun point, hands raised. Just before the entrance there stood a blond man, several heads shorter than he was wearing a simple sweater. Sam immediately recognised him as John Watson. Sherlock's friend. Instantly he could see that this man wasn't just some dude holding a gun. His hand was steady and his stance was correct. There was a military air around this man, at this moment he looked more like somebody that would kill a man than somebody that would heal a man.

John Watson or not, his brother was in danger. He balled his fists and lunged at, he aimed his fist at his head but only met thin air. What?! Somehow the man had sensed him coming and had been able to dodge his attack. Knowing that a counterattack was inevitable Sam sprang backwards and could narrowly avoid the kicks of the man. The speed of the man threw him off and he foolishly hadn't checked where he was jumping too. When he hit the lounging chair he wasn't able to keep standing and with a soft ''oof'' he landed on the cushions.

While he struggled to get upright Sam could hear his brother and their attacker fighting. There was a loud crack as the two slammed into the doorpost and a lot of cursing from Deans part. A second later there was again a crashing sound and after that silence.

When Sam was standing upright again the fight was already over. The apartment was a mess. One of the two men they had wished to speak with now laid bleeding and unconscious on the floor. His brother stood sheepishly next to the fallen doctor and turned towards him

'Well, that could've gone a lot smoother.'

-=o0o=-

A few hours later

-=o0o=-

Sherlock stepped out of the black cab. It was late in the afternoon and soon people would start heading home from their works to reunite with their families and have dinner. The museum was now closed. To his chagrin, Sherlock hadn't been able to find much more in the dusty old files that could help him solve this mystery. What didn't help was that John hadn't shown the whole day. When John had disappeared in his own taxi the thought had crossed his mind to follow him to his secret appointment. But if John would notice him that would surely refrain from going. Nay, he would alert his homeless backup force to look out for John, and whoever could trail the doctor and tell him where he had gone would receive an award. After he had hit ''send'' he hauled for a cab.

Sherlock had spent the rest of the day in the museum. A few hours later his phone had lit up. Several people had spotted John walking trough London. Alone. From the direction he was walking towards it was clear he was headed home. Yet, no one could tell him where he had come from. That didn't matter, Sherlock was sure he would able gain that info himself when talking to John later. Now, he needed to focus. So he turned off his phone and reverted his attention back to the files.

He lost track of time and when one of the museum employe's came to tell him that the museum was closing for the day he was surprised that several hours had passed. He was also disappointed when he noticed that John hadn't come. Whatever he had done earlier that day must've been quite serious if John were to blow off an appointment with him. He'd promised himself that he'd confront John that very evening about where he had been. When outside he was quick to grab a cab. On the way home it stopped raining.

He paid the driver and turned towards the door. With every step closer to the door, he got the feeling something was wrong. Something was defiantly wrong. Why wasn't the light switched on? If John was truly home then surely he would've turned the light on? He stopped before the two small steps in front of the door. Someone had used a picklock on the door. The scratches were just a few hours old and defiantly weren't made by a key. Sherlock had a hard time to not just open the door and rush inside to check if John was alright. No, if he did that he'd erase possible clues as to who forced entry, for whatever reason.

He looked down and the signs were clearly there. There were three sets of footprints. One was John's, no doubt. Sherlock had memorized every single shoe John and this set of prints belonged to one of them. However, John prints covered two other sets of footprints. One set belonged to a person with shoe size 10 and another belonged to a person with shoe size 12**. All three of the people had spent the most of time walking towards the apartment, because their shoes were muddy enough to leave a trace on the stones. John had arrived after the two other people. A tight knot started to form in Sherlocks stomach.

Slowly he opened the door. The first thing he saw was the duck tape on the ground. From the way it was torn he could tell that it hadn't been used to bound somebody, but rather to attach something to a wall or other object. Sherlock then remembered that John had used duck tape before to hide Sherlocks gun. So either one of the two burglars had found the gun which John had hidden somewhere near the entrance, or John had felt threatened enough to take the gun himself. Sherlock didn't like either of the options.

When he didn't find anything else that was of interest he moved towards the stairs. He noticed that the door was that the door was slightly ajar. John never left the door ajar. He didn't like the draft it created. Throwing all caution overboard Sherlock rushed upstairs and burst into the room.

It was a mess, war zone. Sherlock noticed several things at once. One; the broken door frame. Two; the new scratches on the wall and floor; three; almost everything had been moved, as if someone had gone trough it and almost wanted to get noticed. Four; the blood on the floor. Five; The apartment was empty.

'John?!' He called out, not quite able to keep the panic out of his voice.

The only answer was silence. Outside, the wind started to howl.

TBC

* At the moment I'm reading the Sherlock Holmes books (Conan Doyle) and there it is stated that Sherlock is a massive sucker for Horror stories! Fun fact of the day :)

**British size.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?! Where'd they go?! Damnit, guess we have to wait for next time to find out!
> 
> Feel free to leave a review or PM me when you have any questions or want to compliment my brilliance! *Strikes pose*  
> (hahah, no? ok ill stop)
> 
> Thanks for reading everybody! School starts next Monday again. urghhhhhh, I hope they will be a bit more forgiving this period! Again I can promise that this story won't be abandoned, I'm geussing we have about 3/4 chapters left. (I remember saying the same things 4 chapters ago :P ) Anyhow, hope to update ASAP (latest will be chirstmas break, this is worst case scenario! Promise!)
> 
> Thank you very much for reading and favouriting and following and reviewing and etc etc, love you guys :3
> 
> Have a nice day/night! You deserve it!
> 
> Peace out and Party on xxx


	13. Lestrade, what a pleasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!
> 
> SCHOOL HAS RELEASED MY FROM ITS GRIP, I'M FREE FOR TWO WEEKS!
> 
> Yay!
> 
> This is a short update, notifying you that I am back again. I really wanted to get this out early, because we have gained omg so many followers! I mean, what, were nearly at a hundred people! What?! You deserved an update, to at least let you know that I yes, I am still alive and still working on this puppy.
> 
> This is a really short chapter, I'm very sorry!
> 
> You could just think of it as an Author's note, with a little tiny weeny chapter attached.
> 
> But! What is the plan of attack? Well, I'll tell you! This story needs to be finished before 2016! So prepare your butts for many updates these coming weeks. (Next update probs Tuesday)
> 
> And because it has been such a long time; A short recap what has happened.
> 
> 1\. Sam and Dean were ordered to London by Bobby to search for a missing hunter.
> 
> 2\. Sherlock and John are called to investigate a murder scene.
> 
> 3\. Next day, the two teams meet each other in the morgue and Sherlock immediately suspects them.
> 
> 4\. A chase ensues, in which leaves Sam shot and Sherlock knocked out. Dean isn't very fond of Sherlock anymore.
> 
> 5\. Sam and Dean go to a motel in which the missing hunter was staying, and discover that a Sphinx is killing people.
> 
> 6\. Sherlock and John go to a museum, and unbeknownst to them, the encounter the Sphinx who now sees Sherlock as her next target.
> 
> 7\. Sherlock and John leave the museum, Sam and Dean go the museum and fight the sphinx, barely escaping because the couldn't kill her. You actually have to solve her riddle.
> 
> 8\. John figures out Sam and Dean are hunters and leaves Sherlock to go to Mycroft for answers. Sherlock goes to the museum.
> 
> 9\. John gets to hear the truth and goes home, where he is surprised by Sam and Dean, who figured Sherlock and John would be next target and went to 221B Backerstreet.
> 
> 10\. John gets knocked out, and when Sherlock goes home later that day, the apartment is smashed to bits and nobody is home.
> 
> Thanks to everybody who reviewed, followed and favourited. If it weren't for you, this updated wouldn't have happened so soon :)
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: NONE :D
> 
> Enjoy!

Gregson Lestrade was having a wonderful day. Today he had finished one of his the many cases on which he had been working on, he single-handedly had managed to find the man responsible for the attempted murder. Of course, this was his job. But in these days, it became difficult for a detective to do the job and not have anybody else trying to steal the spotlight. No, this time, it was Detective Lestrade who cracked the case, not Donovan, not Jeff, not Susan and of course, not Sherlock. It was some old style detective work, but he had managed to do the job. After celebrating a little with his colleges because, Lestrade had retired to his office, where he spent the rest of the day filling in the blasted paperwork that came with the job. That was a damper.

But now the paperwork was done and the end of his work day was nearing. He was sitting at his desk sipping his coffee, comfortably watching the clock tick away the last minutes of his day. He was just wondering if he should cook this evening, or if he would just settle for some takeaway. Both had their benefits, both had their disadvantages. He didn't mind cooking, actually enjoyed it if he were honest, but cleaning up afterwards was hell, actual hell. Just going for the takeaway was a lot easier, took a lot less time and he wouldn't have to do the dishes that evening. However, he wasn't really a big fan of takeaway. He just enjoyed the taste of home meals better, reminded him of his mother, who had thought him to cook. Just as the thought of his mother convinced him to cook himself tonight, the tunes of the standard iPhone ringtone disturbed the peaceful silence.

Who would call at this hour? He wondered. Nobody from the office would call, not without trying to call the desk phone first. Could it be his parents? But they were supposed to be in Spain this moment, enjoying a vacation together while their good health still allowed it. Frowning he reached which he had tossed on his desk earlier. Then he saw the caller ID.

'Sherlock Holmes'

Lestrade shoulders slumped slightly. He could see his relaxing evening disappear in a cloud of smoke. If Sherlock decided to call him, instead of the other way round, it meant something was aloof. The last time Sherlock had needed him, Lestrade had spent the whole night setting up SWAT teams and directing each team to one of the many crack houses in London. The SWAT was supposed to hide in the neighbourhood and keep an eye on each of the houses. Waiting for a 'signal' Sherlock explained which signal, nor why he needed the SWAT to surround those junky dens. Long story short, the night ended with two of the houses completely burned down, several drug gang people dead, and the street flooded. Apparently John had caused the flood, somehow. He didn't know how John had managed to flood a whole bloody street, but after some thought, Lestrade realised he really, really didn't want to know. All he knew was that the night ended with his team being able to capture the whole leading circle of one of London's most dangerous gangs. That in itself wasn't too bad, what was bad however was that the responsibility to explain the whole ordeal had fallen upon him, and figuring out how to explain four death gang members, two burnt down houses and a flooded street to the press wasn't his description of a fun night. Afterwards, he spent several days filling out the paperwork explaining why the SWAT teams had been essential and why had he had used his authority to call upon them correctly. Meanwhile, Sherlock had already solved four other murders and had caused one shooting incident. Life wasn't fair.

However, even if he knew that his night would be ruined, Lestrade didn't hesitate to pick up the phone. Sherlock was his friend and needed him. He would be there for him, even when if that meant sacrificing one of his precious nights off to lay in a ditch somewhere next to some abandoned farm house to play as look out while Sherlock and John were searching the barn.

He pushed the green flashing button and pressed the phone against his ear.

'You're speaking wi-'

Before he could finish his sentence, Sherlocks rushed voice interrupted him.

'You need to alert your full police force. I need them on the street, now. Tell them to look out for a man 6 feet 1 inch, probably wearing working boots with jeans and a leather jacket and tell them to look out for a man who is 6 feet 5 inch who is also wearing working boots and jeans but with a plaid jacket. They will be together probably, their names are Dean and Sam Winchester. Two highly dangerous criminals from the US who are supposed to be death, but aren't. I've emailed you their files, but you can look at those later. Now you need to order the full London police force on hight alert, quickly!'

Lestrade had never heard Sherlock this way before. Sure, he sounded as calculating and sure as ever. But there was something else in his voice, something he couldn' completely hide. With a start, Lestrade realised it was panic. He became on edge, what possible could cause the panic in Sherlock's voice?

'Wait, Sherlock what is-'

'Just do as I say!' Sherlock barked back

'I need some more-'

*toot toot toot*

Sherlock had ended the call.

Silence returned to the office. For a few seconds, Lestrade was frozen. Through his window he could see Donovan walking to the water cooler, holding a few files and rubbing her brow. Anderson just ended his conversation with one of the assistants and was now walking towards the door, probably leaving for the day. None of them knew about the phone call, which only lasted a few seconds, had taken place. None of them knew about the turmoil that phone call had caused in Lestrade's head.

He didn't know what to do. If he rung the alarm, and set the whole London police force on alert, just like Sherlock had requested, and it appeared it hadn't been a justified call. It would cost him his job, at the least. After all, who would justify it, calling upon the whole police force to chase criminals who were supposed to be death, all because of one phone call from a sociopath, who hadn't even explained himself.

A moment longer he was torn between the two options; Handle, or don't. But he broadened his shoulders and clenched his fists. Sociopath or not, Sherlock was his friend and had trusted him to take care of this. And the day Lestrade stopped supporting his friends was the day he wasn't worthy of any. He grabbed his coat from his chair and snatched his keys from he desk.

Sherlock had never been wrong, and he'd be damned if this would be the first time.

Stil wrestling to get his arms in the right holes of his coat he marched out of his office door.

'Donovan! Forget the water, we've got work to do.'

Immediately she put her half filled cup on one of the nearby desks and was beside him in less than a second.

'Why? What happened?' She asked with an urgent voice.

'I've got a call.' Lestrade grunted. Finally having won the battle with his coat, he bypassed a very confused looking Anderson near the door.

'Wait, does that mean... I can't.. go... Home?' Anderson stuttered.

'Greg, what do you mean you've got a call?!' Donovan shouted after him.

But Lestrade ignored them both. He needed to find Sherlock. The consulting detective was unpredictable on his best days, and now, in this state, nobody could know what he would do. Atop of that, when Lestrade he needed to be on the streets when the police started to swarm the city. Searching for his phone which he had put in one of his pockets, he scanned the streets, searching for his car

'Greg, if this is...'

Donovan stood next to him now, but her voice slowly silenced. It was then that Lestrade noticed the black Rolls Royce Phantom slowly driving towards them.

Lestrade froze, for a second time that evening. He recognised that car. And if the owner of that car had decided to come in person to the police station, then it meant trouble. Real trouble.

While Donovan and Lestrade stood in a tense silence. The car parked and the chauffeur exited the vehicle to open the door for the passenger. Out of the now open car door, a cane appeared and with a neat *clack* it hit the streets. The cane was followed by a long and thin balding man, who was dressed in a very high-end suit. A small smirk graced his lips, yet his eyes were cold and serious.

'Lestrade, what a pleasure.' his smooth voice said, not betraying the man's true emotions.

'Mycroft.' Lestrade answered the man cooly.

'I guess you aren't here for a cup of tea?'

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT? IS THIS ALREADY THE END? DAMNIT NADARHEM, WHAT HAPPENED TO JOHN? TO SAM AND DEAN?! WHAT A CRAP UPDATED, WE DON'T CARE ABOUT LESTRADE BOOOO.
> 
> I know, I know, sorry! :P Tuesday you will have a better update, featuring; John: Waking up! Sherlock; Freaking out! Sam and Dean arguing! It's gonna be a ton of fun!
> 
> Again, thank you guys so so so so so much for your support. I wish I could hug each on of you, you guys are amazing and pulled me trough a crappy period. Even though I wasn't updating, I reread your reviews almost every week because they were so wonderful. Thank you very much. Feel free to leave an other review :)
> 
> I'M BACK AND READY TO RUMBLE!
> 
> Peace out and Party on xxx


	14. Let's just start with step one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we frigging did it. We have over 100 followers! 100+ of you guys have bothered to click on follow, it's really heartwarming. 3 Thank to all of you who left a review on the last chapter, even tough it was such a short one! I know it may seem just a small gesture, but it really can make a difference. So thanks for that.
> 
> Now, I don't know if I can update before Christmas. Busy days ahead! Of course I would love too, but rushing things is never the answer! Especially not with what I have planned for the coming chapters!
> 
> The next chapter is for sure up on Sunday! Maybe, (No promises) sooner!
> 
> And if I don't see you lovely folks before Christmas, have a few very lovely days. And I mean that. And if for some reason you don't celebrate christmas, I hope you can still enjoy the christmas lights and love and have a wonderful magic filled weekend.
> 
> And now, chapter 14!
> 
> Disclaimer; The plot is mine! the characters... not so much...
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS; UNDER AGE DRINKING AND SWEARING (AKA Dean)
> 
> Enjoy!

For a mere second, Sherlock didn't know where to start. John was gone, the apartment was thrashed. Those things alone were pretty alarming, but combined they were terrifying. Sherlock had many enemies, old ones, new ones, enemies he made himself and enemies that saw him as a threat. He was aware of this, and when he was alone it never really bothered him. In his line of work, it was normality to have adversaries. And the first foe that could surprise Sherlock Holmes had yet to reveal himself. No, taking him by surprise wasn't something you'd do easily. But John, John was a different matter. John knew how to act when in close combat, when the opponent was standing directly in front of him. Along with that, John's military training had thought him spot the first signs of a dangerous individual, an individual that was likely to attack. However, the veteran would be a lot easier to ambush than him. Only a few of the dozens times had John noticed any stalker Sherlock had sent after him, to check if he was alright of course. It was possible that one of his many enemies had laid out a trap for Sherlock, yet it had been John that had been caught. It was one of his worst fears, John being in danger because of him. It was selfish to keep him around, Sherlock knew that all along. But it was to his disgust that Sherlock had come to realise that he wouldn't be able to live without him anymore. So Sherlock had decided that pushing John away was something for a later date, now he wouldn't be able to deal with it. Nor would he able to deal with the fact that he had indirectly had caused his friend harm, yet all the signs were there...

Signs

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts. Signs, if he wanted to find John he had to read the signs. This was what he was good at and what could actually help him. So Sherlock closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He unclenched fists, which he handed even realised clenching. In his mind, he started to go trough the clues he had already been given.

Two men had entered the apartment, Shoe sizes were 10 and 12. About half an hour later John had entered. John was likely to carry a weapon, Sherlocks gun, which he had hidden in the hallway below, he knew this because of the tape that was laying in the hall. So, John must've known that something was amiss. Or, another possibility. Two burglars had found the gun and had smashed the apartment trying to find valuable items. This was something Sherlock found unlikely, because of the simple fact that He had already noticed that the most valuable items in the apartment, that also happened to be very easy to take, were still there. So Sherlock abandoned the second idea and opened his eyes.

If John had carried a weapon, it was a possibility that he had fired it. He quickly scanned the floors and walls, but no other bullet holes other than the ones he had made himself were present. John hadn't fired the gun, nor had his adversaries, at least not in the living area.

Blood. It was unmistakably blood that Sherlock had spotted on the remains of the broken desk. With a few big strides, Sherlock had crossed the room and knelt beside it. From the way the wooden planks were placed on the ground he saw that whatever had destroyed it, had come from above the desk. It hadn't been a kick or something comparable. Again, Sherlock searched the room, yet this time from a new point of few. It was then that he noticed that the destroyed desk and broken door frame were in one line. Slowly Sherlock rose to his feet.

Two people were fighting. One hit the doorframe, after which the two had struggled with each other, the scuffle ultimately ending by one of the two falling onto the desk, very likely also hitting their head, which caused the bleeding.

An uneasy feeling started to form in his stomach, but he quickly put his worries aside.

Facts, Sherlock, never ever make conclusions if you haven't finished your research. Shaking his head lightly, he shook the feelings of uneasiness from him and he walked to the fallen down chair.

No blood. If he was lucky the chair hadn't simply been knocked offer, but someone had actually fallen across it. Because if the last thing had happened it was plausible that there would be DNA traces on the chair.

It was in the corner of his eyes that he noticed the dark shape of John's laptop, laying on the kitchen table.

Now, Sherlock was one hundred percent sure that John always put away his laptop correctly. At first, John refused to allow Sherlock to use it. John's whole live was on that thing, his blogs, his diaries, pictures of his time in the field. However, when John realised that no matter how many times he told Sherlock to not touch his stuff, the consulting detective would never listen, he dropped the issue and accepted that he would now have to share his laptop. But still, Sherlock would get in trouble with his friend if he didn't put it away properly. John wouldn't have let it sit in the kitchen like that, so somebody else must've done it.

It took him a few seconds to fetch his gloves out of his room. Of course, if he touched the laptop with his bare hands he would destroy any traces the burglars had left. He didn't bother to sit down, but rather click the space bar to activate the computer. The screen flashed alive and he was greeted by an article of about US greatest modern criminals, a section about Sam Winchester highlighted.

It was then that something clicked in Sherlock's head.

Of course.

Somehow, the two Winchester brothers had figured out who had chased them down trough the alleys of London. And when they had figured out who their names, they were only a quick google session away from finding out where they lived.

Again took it much of his will power to not decend into panic. Those two were dangerous, very dangerous. Yet, Sherlock managed to stay calm. Now that he had an acceptable hypothesis who had broken into his apartment and had caused John's disappearance, he needed to figure out why. They wouldn't have taken John without a reason. John was a remarkable foe, but not many people realised this, rather going after Sherlock himself. The Winchesters had probably laid out a trap for him, but it had been John who had been caught. Now, if those Winchester had at least a few functioning brain cells, they would've formed a plan to lure Sherlock out of his hiding, using John as bait. But naturally, they would have to actually make it known to him that they had John captured.

A note would be the logical way to go. Simple and effective. But, Sherlock realised, he hadn't seen a note.

Sherlock quickly left the kitchen area and scouted the apartment, one time, two times. No note. There was no note. Why was there no note? This time, Sherlock didn't bother to suppress his feeling of dread. He returned to the kitchen and knocked the chair aside. He checked his email, there were some few ones, but none that seemed suspicious or held any clues where John was. He also checked John's mail. (He had figured out the password on his fourth try) but it was the same result.

Sherlock could feel his pulse fasten. No note, no sign, no clues. How would he figure out where John was?

Sherlock closed his eyes again, and focused on his breath, using some techniques he had learned when a lot younger. One small voice in his head couldn't help but think how ridiculous his reaction was. He had seen countless of deaths, countless of disappearances. But now, when John, just another person had disappeared, it triggered this state of almost panic.

But that thought got shut down. John wasn't just another person. John was his friend. And that was the truth.

'So? How do you help your friends Sherlock? How? Not with panic for sure!' The voice sneered back.

Sherlock opened his eyes again. The voice was right, panic wouldn't help the situation. How do you fix problems? Simple, you start with step one.

Sherlock grabbed his phone out of his pocket, and with his trenchcoat swaying behind him, he left the apartment.

-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-~o0o~-

The first thing John noticed was his headache. It was a throbbing pain, pulsing in harmony with his heartbeat. It wasn't fun, but it wasn't something he hadn't dealt with before, he had dealt with head wounds many times to be honest.

The second thing he noticed was the restraints on his wrists and ankles. That was something he had dealt a little less with, A lot more since he'd known Sherlock, but still, he hadn't gotten used to the feeling. But he knew one thing, it wasn't pleasant.

He opened his eyes and moved his head to look around, put he was immediately punished as a sharp pain shot trough his head, a wave of nausea washed over him, and it took all his willpower to not empty his stomach right there.

John took a deep breath and counted to 20. The nausea ebbed away again along with the pain. Slowly he opened his eyes again.

He had been right, he had been restrained. He was tied with a thick rope to a chair. Moving his arms and legs told him that the chances of wiggling himself free were slim. The ropes were very tight and cut in his skin with the smallest movement. But luckily for John they weren't so tight that of the cut off his blood stream completely.

Carefully John raised his head and noticed that he had been placed in a bathroom. A very small and dirty bathroom, but a bathroom nonetheless.

Slowly but surely John's senses started to return to him and he started to remember what happened. After his meeting with Mycroft he had returned home, he had encountered two men in his house. The same men he and Sherlock had seen in the morgue and had later chased trough London. The same men he and Sherlock had later identified as Sam and Dean Winchester.

Sam and Dean Winchester. Two brothers who the whole world viewed as highly dangerous criminals, but only a few recognised as hunters. And not your ordinary hunters at that. No, apparently, monsters and whatnot were real. And these two had chosen to hunt those things down, out of their free will. And he was now tied up in their bathroom.

This was going to be an interesting night.

Atleast his captors had decided to leave the lights on, so that was nice, at least. It allowed him to further inspect the grimy bathroom, and it allowed him to see where the knots were at the ropes. Maybe he could untie the knots? Deciding that attempting to free himself instead of inspecting the damp bathroom was a far better occupation, he started moving his hands again, trying to get a little more room to get to the knots.

Suddenly, a door slammed outside of the bathroom. John froze and strained his ears to hear. Luckily, the walls matched the quality of the bathroom, because they were thin enough so he could hear every word of their conversation.

'And?' A voice asked.

'The rooms surrounding us are empty, so I doubt they heard anything.' Somebody else answered.

'At least we have that going for us...'

Silence, then the first voice spoke again.

'I need a beer.'

'Dean! This is hardly an appropriate time for beer!'l

'Well, let me tell you, Sam, this time is exactly the right time for a fucking beer.'

'We have important stuff to deal wit! We can't afford it to get drunk right now'

'Ah come on Sammy, the last time one beer had any effect on me I was 16.'

'You were already drinking at 16?'

'You were not? Really, that's more shameful than me Sammy.'

John listened as a fridge door opened and closed again. Then the person the other one had called 'Sammy' started to speak.

'You're impossible.'

'And you're a wuss. Now, is Jackie Chan already awake?'

John's shoulders tightened. Unless these two had actually hidden Jackie Chan somewhere in the apartment, he was pretty sure they were talking about him.

He heard Sam sigh.

'Probably not, wouldn't surprise me if he was out all night. You hit him pretty hard on that desk.'

'For like the thousands time, it wasn't like I did that on purpose!'

'Well, matter of fact is, you did it.'

'Whatever, like you did him any good, dragging him all the way here.'

'Like we could have left him there.'

'We could've! Call an ambulance or whatever and just get the hell out of there.'

'And leave him there helpless for the Sphinx to munch on? Yeah, that would've done him a lot of good.'

Wait what. That didn't sound good, that sounded far from good. Sphinx, they had to be kidding. Right? Dean's voice continued

'We don't even known for sure if this guy is the next vic. It still could be that other asshole.'

They didn't like Sherlock, what a surprise...

Sam answered; 'Well, I don't like taking chances, and talking about that. We need to figure out where that guy is, because it indeed could be him, and atop of that, we need to figure out how to kill the sphinx.' His voice became more stressed how longer Sam kept talking

'You're overthinking it, let's just start with step one okay?' Dean responded.

And suddenly, the bathroom door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everybody, hope to see you soon! <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back! A few days late! oops.
> 
> Sorry guys, this chapter was so hard to write. Which is, of course, the reason it wasn't included in the last chapter. This was the most difficult one, oh how I'm dreading the one with the whole gang. Which is approaching fast! Again, sorry for the wait!
> 
> Thanks again to all who reviewed and followed and favourited. You guys gave me the best Christmas present! (Well, my mum got me a Batman pajama so that's pretty rad too)
> 
> Now, enjoy this long awaited chapter! Where John and 2/3 of team free will go head to head.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Swearing, of course. But hey, if you came this far you wouldn't mind some swearing I think
> 
> DISCLAIMER; I don't own shit, well, except the plot :P Characters? Not so much.

'...Let's start with step one, okay?' Dean finished his sentence and turned his back to his brother, who was sitting on a shitty chair behind his Laptop. Probably doing some research or whatever.

Really, at times like this, you had to keep your cool. Maybe their guest had a mobile on him or something else that could help them find this Sherlock. Because in the end, if they managed to find the next victim they would catch that Sphinx in no time. How they'd fight it, well, the would deal with that when the time came.

So Dean passed his beer to his other hand and opened the door, and was met by a sight he wasn't expecting. Because, their guest was actually awake.

For a second, none of them spoke and Dean was left to stare at the man tied to the chair. His blond hair still a bit red from the wound. Which Sam had treated by the way.

'uhmm' Was all he was able to say. Dean hadn't thought it to be possibly for somebody to combine such hard look with curiosity, but this one man managed to pull it off.

First Dean squinted, which the other man mirrored, then he raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to speak.

'Look man, you-'

But before he could finish his sentence the other man interrupted him.

'You're Dean Winchester, the other man you were talking to is your brother Sam Winchester. Your parents were Mary and John Winchester. Misses Winchester died when young in a fire, and your father died not to long ago. Or rather, he disappeared. You and your brother became two of the US most wanted criminals, doing more than one crime that would have caused a lifelong imprisonment or even the death sentence. However, you both died in a helicopter accident.

The man spoke so fast Dean could barely keep up with him.

However, the older Winchester relaxed a bit and leaned against the door post. Sam had already told him that this Sherlock had caught scent of their trail. It wasn't a big surprise that he had told his companion. Dean was still wondering how this Sherlock had found out who he and his brother were, with only ever seeing them once. He had to give the guy some credit, but that guy wasn't here, it was his friend and Dean strongly doubted that Sherlock's friend had anything to do with finding out who they were, no, Sam had told him that it was Sherlock who was the mastermind of the two and that John just hung around him. And although Watson could fight, he wouldn't be able to do now, being tied to a chair and all. If this man thought he and Sam were just your old criminals and didn't know any more than what he had read in the papers, then that was fine by him.

'Well, ten points for Gryffindor, at least, you know how to google some shit.' Dean said not sounding all to impressed. With a rather smug look on his face, he brought his beer to his lips.

Yet, John wasn't finished. Without blinking, he continued.

'But the thing is, you two aren't what the people think you are. You may or may not have done these crimes. But you did them for another cause. You and your brother hunt things, things in the dark. Things not many people know about. Monsters. You two are hunters and for some reason that has brought you two here, and me tied to this chair.'

Dean choked on his beer and Sam sprung up from his chair.

'Wait what? How do you know?' Sam asked, almost shouting as he walked with big strides to the bathroom door, where Dean was still trying to stop coughing.

Meanwhile, John felt the confidence surge trough him. Although these two had broken into his house, he realised that they weren't the enemy. At least, not from his point of view. Why they had decided to break into his home was a mystery worth solving, for another time. Now he needed to make sure they realised he wasn't the enemy, and it seemed that now he had their attention it was the right time to do so.

With a calm voice, he said.

'I'll tell you if you unbind me.'

'No way!' Dean exclaimed, finally having stopped coughing. 'There is no guarantee you won't just karate chop your way out of his!'

'Dean, shut up.' Sam said to his brother while he looked John in the eye.

'Sam! Seriously!' Dean shouted throwing his arms in the air, but after that, he was quiet.

Meanwhile, Sam stood perfectly still as he inspected the man in the chair in front of him.

'How do you know?' He repeated his question, only, this time, calmer and more pressing. His eyes boring into the man's in front of him. However, he didn't look away, rather answered his stare with an, even more, stubborn look. When John didn't answer, Sam continued.

'Because, you see, most strangers we meet and know this, aren't exactly what we would call friendly.'

'You are worried about me not being friendly!' John said with disbelief. 'You broke into my home, you snuck up on me and tried to hit me, and after that your brother knocked me out and you two thought the logical action was to bring me here, and now you two are wondering if I'm the dangerous one?'

Despite the situation, Dean couldn't help but chuckle. This guy had a point. Sam ignored him and continued.

'We have our reasons, as you surely have yours. Why else would you've chased us if you know who we are?'

John didn't react, but inside his head, the cogs were making over hours. Sam had got him there. If he knew who they were, the best course of action would've been to let them go on their merry way, of course, play blind. But he hadn't, of course he hadn't. He didn't know who they were at the time. It seemed he had to bluff his way out of this one.

'Solving murder.' He simply said.

Sam frowned, but before he could formulate an answer John spoke again.

'Somebody gets killed, which isn't a rarity here in London, but for some reason you two show up at the morgue the next day all the way from the US, of course it is suspicious.'

'It wouldn't have been hard to guess why we were here.' Dean shot back, finally joining the conversation.

'You two keep going on about why we chased you, but I think the real question is why did you come back? Why did you two break into my apartment? Because what I'm seeing here is that you two would've rather liked avoiding me, and Sherlock for the matter. Yet you two still came back!' John remarked and he had a short stare down with the shorter Winchester, who stubbornly crossed his arms.

'Well, tuff shit, because we are the one asking questions.' Dean answered.

But Sam leaned back. For a second he watched the stare down between his brother and John. He made a decision.

'We think you or your friend is the next target of the thing we're hunting.'

'Sam!' Dean shouted, for the second time throwing his arms in the air.

John's eyes widened. That was something he hadn't seen coming. Of course, Sherlock had many enemies. But as far as he knew, there had been no reason why he or Sherlock had pissed off any monsters lately.

'What? Wait, how?' He managed to blurt out. His confusion showing on his every feature.

'I'll tell you, but first, let me help you with these ropes.'

-o0o-Fiveteen minutes later-o0o-o0o-Fiveteen minutes later-o0o-o0o-Fiveteen minutes later-o0o-

John was massaging his wrists and tried as he looked to the two brothers at the other side of the room. The older brother had spent at least five minutes arguing with Sam before he had finally left the bathroom and allowed Sam to release him from the ropes. It had taken several minutes, but at least he now was free. But that didn't mean the situation was any less tense, yes, maybe a little bit, for him. But the Winchesters were even more on edge. Only, Sam did a better job at hiding his feelings. He looked rather relaxed, sitting on his chair. But Dean not so much, he was leaning next to the door against the wall, his arms crossed and his gun clearly visible in his belt.

John liked to think he looked rather calm as well, but he knew that if Sherlock were here he would burst out in laughing at the thought. Oh, how much fun would Sherlock have, reading the three of them, each having their own secrets and insecurities to hide. This was a bloody gold mine.

How he wished Sherlock was here, because he knew that Sherlock would only need three minutes to bullshit his way out of the room. John, not so much.

He decided to try anyway.

'You said that you thought Sherlock and I are on some kind of monster hit list, how?' He said, his voice a lot more stern than when he had been tied to a chair. Sherlock would sometimes say that his inner soldier was dripping through when he spoke in this manner.

It seemed that Dean noticed because straightened his shoulders a bit. Sam must've noticed too, but he had an opposite reaction. He slumped a bit and brushed his hand trough his hair.

'We came here to find another hunter who was doing some research here. The day after we arrived we read about the murder. The murder in questions was similar to some other murders in the city, so it came on our radar. Most of the things we hunt like pattern, so this had a pretty big change being something for us.'

That was when Sam looked directly at him.

'The man that was killed was the guy we were looking for. And belief me, something that can kill one of us, you don't want roaming in your city. Dean and I went to the motel Kevin had been living in, there we found evidence that the he was after targeted people who had visited the British National Museum. So we went there, and so you and friend. Seemed like we were on the same trail.'

John nodded. That visit had only been yesterday, it seemed like ages.

'Anyhow,' Sam continued. 'We saw the thing were hunting at the museum, only, it escaped.'

Dean couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and the corners of his lips rose a bit upwards. Sammy seemed to have forgotten that it wasn't the Sphinx who escaped, but them. But the other two didn't seem to notice him. Sam resumed his story.

'The thing told us that it was hunting somebody else before it escaped. Dean and I returned here and spent the whole night doing research, and it became clear that you two were the last that he had encountered. So the logical guess was that it was either after you or your friend. So we decided to go to your home to see if we could intercept the monster there.'

Sam conveniently left out that they were also going to Backerstreet to see if the could intercept Watson or Holmes themselves. John didn't need to know that.

John frowned and he softly spoke.

'That was when I entered, and you decided the best course of action would be to knock me out.'

'Well, you had a gun pointed at my head.' Dean remarked with scorn.

John answered the statement with an annoyed glare.

'I've encountered far worse things in my apartment than you two, I like to be prepared.'

It was clear that Dean didn't believe him, the unbelief was showing along with yet another raised eyebrow.

'Now really?' The older Winchester said, clearly looking for another fight.

Sam intervened.

'That doesn't matter now Dean, we all acted in the heat of the moment.' He first shot a look at his brother, and after that, a look to John, signaling that this was a discussion for a different time. Now, they had more pressing matter. John was the first to realise this, because he spoke first.

'What is it you were hunting?'

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, something that wasn't overlooked by John. In the end, it was Sam who answered. Seemingly the more rational and calm one.

'A sphinx.'

For a minute, John's face was completely blank as he just stared at Sam's face.

'A sphinx.' He repeated.

'...jap.' Sam answered.

John thought he had accepted the fact there were things around he thought weren't real. He really did, but now, when it was staring in his face, he found it rather hard to believe. He frowned.

'A sphinx.' He asked for a second time.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, reminding John a lot of Sherlock when he spoke to Anderson.

'A sphinx is like Lion with a human face right? I think if something like that was walking around in London somebody would've noticed.'

'Well, this one can camouflage itself. The only thing that is giving it away is when it's stupid riddles competition with every twat that walks in that museum.' Dean answered sounding rather annoyed.

'Wait, riddles? What do you mean riddles?' John's attitude immediately changed, he straightened his back and all the hostility disappeared and was exchanged with worry. This didn't go unnoticed by either Sam or Dean. They both exchanged a looked. 'Yahtzee.' Dean mouthed. Sam nodded and turned to John again.

'Yes, that's how it picks its target. It asks a riddle, you answer it correctly, you live. But when you answer it wrong or refuse to answer, then you get killed.'

John started pacing.

'Sherlock refused to answer a riddle, thought it was a waste of time.'

'Of course he did.' Dean huffed

'Dean, you aren't helping!' Sam shot at back at his brother.

'We have to find Sherlock.' John said ignoring both brothers as he came to a halt.

'We know.' Sam said in a soothing manner. 'But we need your help in doing so.'

'Yeah, about that Sam.' What are we going to do when we find that asshole, and eventually we encounter the sphinx? We still don't know how to kill that bitch.'

'Wait, you two don't know how to kill it?' John called out.

'We're still working on that.' Sam answered.

'What do you mean with that?' John took a step closer to the younger brother, ignoring Dean who stepped closer to him too, even moving his hands towards his gun.

'We know how to kill it, it's only we can't.' Sam said, rising from his chair.

'Well, why can't you?!'

'Because to kill it, you have to answer it's riddle correctly. Now back off!' Dean shouted.

John ignored the last comment and looked Dean square in the eye. His voice serious and his authority undoubting.

'Well, if that is your only problem, then I have your solution.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I really really do :)
> 
> I have to be honest and tell you that I don't know when I'm able to update again, most awesome would be Friday of course. But that's new years day, so it would be a bit tricky. After this week I have a test week (oh god no) and I will be drowning in school work for days.
> 
> So most awesome thing would be Friday, but I will keep you guys updated in the summary. If there won't be an update on Friday, it will be stated in the summary!
> 
> Hope ya'll had a wonderful Christmas and I hope your New years eve will even be better! :D
> 
> THANKS FOR READING, AND STICKING WITH ME 3
> 
> Have fun, peace out and party on xx


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY 2016! WHOOOO!
> 
> What? I missed my deadline! Nooooo, sorry guys. I had to work unexpectedly yesterday so I hadn't the time to wrap this thing up. Alas Alas! Anyhow, it's finished now! Only a day later than promised! That has to mean something, right, RIGHT?
> 
> Thank you to all those who left a review on the last chapter! A lot off you awesome people have pointed out to me how many mistakes I make, which I'm very gratefull for! I have decided that after I've finished this story I will read trough the whole bloody thing and check for every mistake I can find! But I thought you guys would appreciate it if I finished the story first 3 I promise that every time I write death, I will think twice if I don't actually mean dead! That's a mistake I make a lot, don't be shy to point such mistakes out to me! That only helps me improving my English of course!
> 
> And ofcourse thanks to all you lovelies who have followed and favourited this story, and a few who are now even following me as an author on this site!
> 
> DISCLAIMER; I DON'T OWN SHIT BUT THE PLOT!
> 
> ENJOY!

Sherlock slid the phone back in his pocket. He didn't give Lestrade a second thought, already was he thinking about the next step. He needed to find John and to find John, he had to find the Winchesters. And he wasn't Sherlock Holmes if he hadn't already formed a plan.

The Streets were almost deserted. Night was falling and above rain clouds released their first drops of rain upon London. The wet concrete reflected the orange light of the streetlights and puddles of water started to form. None of that bothered Sherlock when he left Bakerstreet. The rain actually helped his cause. The homeless and beggars in this area always retired to the same places when it started to rain, making it easier of him to find them.

And Sherlock wasn't dissapointed. After walking a few blocks he saw next to a parking station a familiar face. Wrapped in dirty blankets he sat leaning against the walls of the complex, the overhanging roof protected him from most of the bad weather and the man was still able to beg any other pedestrian for the change. It was as good as it would get in this weather.

While Sherlock crossed the street, he tried to remember what he knew about the man. He called himself Logan, but it was clear as day that that wasn't his real name. Logan wasn't somebody in Sherlock's direct network, but years back they spoke regularly. Now he rather avoided the man. But from what he had heard from the other homeless is that Logan hadn't changed a bit and was still in business, and that business meant that he would visit all the shady parts of London. Every gritty hotel, motel and deserted spot in London was his playground. If anything new happened in those parts of town, Logan would know.

Logan spotted him, baring his brown teeth he let out a gurgling laugh.

'Well, well, what is this? Sherlock Holmes himself seeking out an old fella like me? That has been a long time, ain't it?'

Sherlock halted right in front of the man. He didn't bother to step under the overhanging roof, not wanting to get any closer to the of smoke reeking man than was absolutely necessary.

'I knew you'd come back, they always come back. What ya need this time Holmes?' His face was far too smug for Sherlock's liking.

'Information.' The detective answered cooly. He wasn't gonna let the man get under his skin.

'Info? That's new... You know I don't do info, Holmes. Loose lips sink ships, isn't that what they say?'

Sherlock clenched his fists.

'I'm not a fool Logan you clearly think me to be. If I wanted to unmantle your little business and waste time catching your partners I certainly wouldn't need your help or information in doing so. I'm here for other information.'

'Why don't ya trott along to your other snitches Holmes?' The man laughed barking. 'If you really wanted information, you would've run to them already! No, I know why you're here and luckily for you, I'm always ready to do business.' He said as he already reached for his pockets.

Sherlock hadn't time for this.

He grabbed the man's collar with both hands and pulled him upright. Pressing the man against the wall Sherlock brought his head closer. He could smell the alcohol breath induced with the smoke of a joint. Although the man had used today, Sherlock was pretty sure the substances had now only little influence on the man.

'I will ask you once, Logan, only once, it's a simple question so even an incompetent destituted guttersnipe like you should be able to answer it correctly.' Sherlock whispered with a voice that surely had to ability to freeze over hell itself.

'Well, spit it out then Holmes.' Logan snickered, but his eyes told otherwise. They shifted behind him to his sides, no doubt trying to see if anybody would be coming to his aid. This man wasn't as tough as he had praised himself to be, and now a different Sherlock stood before him, one he hadn't accounted for.

Sherlock relaxed his grip slightly but still held on to make sure the man wouldn't try to flee from him.

'Two men, both around the thirty, one four or five years younger than the other. The younger is dressed in tattered jeans and wears a plaid shirt and grows his hair a little above the shoulder, his length is 6,4''. The older one is 6 feet long and wears jeans with a leather jacket. They probably use fake names but are actually called Sam and Dean Winchester. It's possible they were looking for guns or other weapons. I want you to tell me where they are.'

'Gah! Thousands of Americans come and leave everyday Holmes, and yer asking me to point ya to two of them?'

'Only. Two.'

'And even if I was able to point you to them? Why would I? You aren't able to do shit Holmes, you can't harm me! No, you need me. Sooner or later you will need me again!' The man howled at him, a malicious glint appeared in his eyes.

Sherlock only squinted and cocked his head. a calculating look appeared on his face and without a word, he dropped the man, who slid against the wall to the ground.

The detective put his hands in the pocket of the trench coat as he stared down to the man below him.

'Only a fool thinks himself irreplaceable Logan. Enjoy your night on the streets, I have no doubt it will be your last one.' Sherlock said cold, his eyes darker and without any emotion he turned around to leave. He had walked a few feet before the crooks voice stopped him.

'Wait!'

Sherlock didn't stop walking, not until he heard Logan scramble up the walls and run after him.

'I don't know where to find these Winchesters, but I can tell you something else!'

That made him turn around. His eyes locking with the others, who stood in the rain behind him, his arms hanging limply to his sides.

'I, I had a meeting. We were on some deserted industrial site south of the Thames minding our own when we saw somebody else prying his way trough the fence. From what I could see, he wore a leather jacket and he could've been as tall as you described one of the guys to be. And he certainly was holding a gun, the git only looked at us once before he entered the building complexes, about 40 minutes later he came out again and left. That is the only odd thing I've seen all week, I swear! And if that info isn't enough to keep minding your own business, then that is your loss.' He sneered.

Sherlock wasn't listening anymore. Something clicked. Industrial site south of the Thames. That was where Kevin's body had been found, it was the murder scene. How he didn't think of this earlier. It was the perfect place to hide at this moment for the two Winchesters. A murderer always returned to the scene of the crime. A lie of course, but didn't every lie hold a bit of truth? It had all started there, and it seemed that it would end there too.

Sherlock was ill prepared, unarmed, wounded. Yet, there was a big chance John would be there, and that fact was almost terrifying. It was the perfect place for a murder. That had been proven already.

'Is that enough for ya Holmes?'

Sherlocks train of thought was interrupted by Logan, who was still staring at him.

The detective didn't even bother to look at the man as he hailed a cab and said with a voice, so uninterested that you would almost forget how threatening it had been only a few seconds ago;

'Really Logan, if you think I would waste any more time on you than I already have then I truly can say you are the proof that evolution can go in reverse.'

And with that, Sherlock stepped into the cab that had stopped before him, and slammed the door shut.

-o0o-o0-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-

at the motel

'Wait? What do you mean?' Sam said as he moved himself between the veteran and Dean, hoping that Dean would put his gun away again.

John ignored both brothers and turned around, starting to pull the closets open and rummaging trough the cupboards.

'Isn't it obvious? I solved a riddle, simple as that. And if we want to kill that thing before it kills Sherlock, we have to hurry. God knows what that fool is doing at this moment.'

Dean stepped in front of the doctor, cutting off his path to the next closet.

'What do you mean we? And why the hell are you going trough our stuff?!' He asked accusingly with his arms crossed as he stared to shorter man.

John had to fight very hard to not lose his patience right there. It was only because of all the time spent with Sherlock, who was most of the time just as insufferable as the older Winchester, that he managed to keep his composure. It, however, didn't stop him to glare at Dean, a glare which had even managed to make Sherlock back off and actually listen to John a few times. It was a glare he learned with his time in the army, for when he had to command the most stubborn wounded soldiers to lay down their weapon and return to base camp, even though their loyalty had screamed at them to do otherwise. It was a small miracle that Dean didn't burst out in flames, because of how fierce his glare was.

And clearly it had effect, because even tough he didn't realise it, Dean tensed his shoulders and jaw, trying hard to look away. A vision flashed before his eyes, a vision of another war veteran named John, having the same exact look on his face, clearly indicating that if Dean didn't do exactly as his father said, that things would quickly go south for him.

So Dean was actually silent when John spoke.

'Look, we both want the same thing. You want that thing dead, and I want that thing dead. And unless you suddenly grow the brains to figure out how you're going to kill it without solving it's riddle, which you had just told me was a necessity to kill it, I'm your only shot at actually killing that thing. So, yes, it's a we, even if you like it or not, I don't care. And why I'm going trough your stuff? That's because you stole my gun and I want that bloody thing back!'

John hadn't managed to keep his voice down, and he ended his rant a lot louder than he had started it. Dean stood silent before him, tense and unmoving as his stared to the veteran in front of him. Very hard thinking of a good response.

However, before he could decide on an answer, Sam sighed and walked to his bed. He quickly patted along the end of the bed and reached out to grab the gun that was stuffed under the mattress. Ignoring the look of unbelief on his brother's face, he checked the mag of the gun and counted the bullets left.

'Sam...' Dean growled softly.

He didn't respond to his brother and with a satisfying chsik, Sam slid the mag back in place and offered the gun to John, the handle pointing towards to the bit surprised looking man.

When John reached out and carefully took the loaded weapon out of Sam's hand the younger Winchester said.

'Your mag is still full, but I doubt it will be useful against the sphinx. Dean already shot it once it recovered very quickly, a top of that. Legend says you have to strangle the thing to actually kill it, of course, our only source is the Oedipus story, so maybe that info is outdated.'

John nodded and the hostility melted from his features.

'Thank you.' He said, and it was very clear that he wasn't only thankful about the gun or the information, but also for Sam's trust.

'Uhm, yeah, no problem.' Sam said, sounding a bit embarrassed by the offering of gratitude.

Meanwhile, Dean was in a totally different mood.

'Sam! Really, what? You're just giving guns to strangers now?! Honestly-'

Whatever Dean wanted to say stayed unknown, because Sam interrupted him, sounding just as annoyed as his brother, if not more irritated.

'Dean, would you just shut the fuck up already? John's right, the quickest way to end this job is to let him help us. Because I don't see any other way to fix this, we have no idea where the sphinx is and it sure as hell isn't going to wait for us before it starts killing again. And let me remind you, has the thought ever occurred to you that when that thing kills Sherlock, we are the next thing on it's to do list? And we don't have a way to even kill this thing! You keep telling me that I'm being unreasonable, but really, I don't see another way, and you haven't made any good suggestions either!'

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but when he realised he actually didn't know what to respond he closed it again and was left to stubbornly glare at his brother.

Sam raised an eyebrow in response, but when he saw that his brother wasn't going to answer him, he turned to John, who had watched the fiery word exchange with more than a little interest but now straightened his face when Sam looked at him.

'Right, so, to find the sphinx we have to find Sherlock first, that's our best shot. Do you know where he is now?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR READING!
> 
> I'm aiming to update every two weeks from now on, hopefully on Sundays so the updates will be more regural from now on because I'm not really drowning in school work at the moment and this story is speeding towards the ending at the moment. Next chapterw will be start of the climax! So I'm looking forward to that!
> 
> Feel free to leave a review, favourite and follow this! And also feel free to PM me! I will gladly accept any advice you have or answer any questions you have!
> 
> Have a wonderfull evening/day and I'll see you in about 2 weeks!
> 
> peace out and party on xxx


	17. Where's Sherlock?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahha and I thought I could stick to an schedule hahahahahaa
> 
> pls don't kill me.
> 
> Thanks to everybody who reviewed/favourated/followed! I really appreciate every message you leave me, critique or compliments. It really makes my day when I get a new email of fanfic that I got one of the three! (When I get like four reviews in a night on a new chap I will actually go round my group of friends and show all the notifications, but none of them read fanfic or even watch Supernatural (gasp) so they never quite get what I'm so fussed about :P But atleast they know I'm happy so they're happy for me too :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own shit, only the plot!
> 
> Now, up to the next chapter!
> 
> Enjoy!

John had a very hard time remembering a more tense cab ride. There was no way the cabbie couldn't feel the awkwardness between the three. But luckily for them, the driver didn't ask any questions and kept his eyes on the road, determent to get to the destination as quickly as possible so he could get rid of his three passengers as fast as possible. John himself was seated in the backseat, next to him sat Sam, who seemed to mind his presence a lot less than Dean , who was riding shotgun, at the moment.

The three of them were headed to Backstreet. It was the most logical place where Sherlock would be at the moment. When Sam had asked him where Sherlock was most likely now, his first instinct was to just grab his mobile and call his friend, so he reached into his pocket only to realise his cellphone was gone. The two brothers had assured him that although they had searched him, they hadn't taken anything of him. John didn't really have a reason to not believe them, after all, if he had his phone they could find Sherlock faster. That must've meant that either he had lost the thing in the fight at the apartment, or he had lost the phone while Sam and Dean had moved him to that motel. Something that he still couldn't understand; How the two brothers had managed to move an unconscious body trough London without alerting the authorities. When he had asked about the fact, Sam had shrugged and Dean had given him a small smirk saying. 'We have our tricks.' An answer that actually made him more alarmed than he already was.

So John had no phone, no way to contact Sherlock, and Sherlock had no way to contact him. Judging from the time, the museum was already closed and the most plausible scenario was that Sherlock would have gone straight back home. He doubted that the detective had found any useful information in those dusty archives. If he had any luck. Sherlock was still home. But as they came closer and closer to Backerstreet. John couldn't shake the nagging feeling that they wouldn't find Sherlock that easily. It was never that easy, and atop of that, there was no way Sherlock couldn't deduce that a fight had taken place at 221B. The veteran didn't actually know how much damage they had done to the apartment (He remembered the sound of the breaking doorframe and they feeling as he hit the desk), but knowing the consulting detective, the two brothers had only needed to touch the door knob and that would've been enough for Sherlock to see that somebody else then him or John had entered, let alone a broken doorframe.

He wondered what Sherlock's initial reaction would've been when he noticed that John wasn't home and that there had been a break-in. Obviously, he had searched for any clues first, but after that? Would he have called Lestrade? The police themselves? Probably not... Call Mycroft? That was a tricky one, Sherlock loathed his brother while Mycroft loved his. But somewhere, deep down, John wasn't entirely convinced if Sherlock hate for the older Holmes was as strong as he claimed it to be.

But John's train of thought was interrupted when the cab suddenly halted. It appeared that they had arrived at their destination.

Dean jumped out the cab immediately, and when John reached for his pockets, he realised with a start that he didn't have his wallet on him either. While he patted his other pockets searching for any loose change he bit his lip, but he didn't have to search long because Sam coughed beside him.

'Uhm, I've got it.'

When John looked at Sam, who had a small sheepish smile on his face, the younger Winchester was already holding the money that they owed the cab driver in his hand.

A few moments later, the three of them stood before a worrying sight in the rain. The door of John's apartment was open. John frowned and turned towards the brothers.

'I'm assuming it wasn't you two who left the door open, right?'

Sam, who was inspecting the windows, confirmed his thoughts.

'No, it certainly wasn't us'

After checked if the streets were empty and exchanging a look with his brother, the older Winchester whipped out his gun and started walking to the door. Sam was right behind them. But before they could even take two steps they were stopped by John's voice.

'Wait.'

Behind them, John pulled out his own gun and passed the two brothers as he walked towards the door.

For a change, it was Sam who protested.

'Wait, Hold up John'.

John turned around and raised an eyebrow as he waited for the taller Winchester to continue.

Sam actually had to swallow.

'I think it's better if Dean goes first, we, you know, don't know what's in there.'

A very small and gentle smile appeared on John's face, but then it was gone. Still with his eyebrow raised he answered.

'Thank you for your concern, but I think I have proved that I can handle my own. Besides, I didn't spend the last few years in military to play backup when things go south.'

Sam's eyes widened slightly while Dean started to squinch.

Slightly amused by the reaction of the two brothers regarding this new found info, but quickly he set his feelings aside and again started moving the door.

Behind him, Sam and Dean shared a look. Sam biting the inside of his lip, clearly not contend with the John being the frontline. But after a second Dean shrugged and followed the doctor. Sam stared with a look of mixed surprise and confusion. Sometimes, he really didn't get his brother. Only about thirty minutes ago, Dean hadn't trusted the guy with a gun, and now he was willing to let the man take charge while sometimes he had even hesitated to trust Sam to take the lead! After shaking his head, Sam decided that it was too late to argue and followed the two inside the apartment.

Meanwhile, John was standing by the stairs. Above, the door was left open too. John strained his ears, but besides the soft sound of Dean's breathing and Sam joining them in the corridor, he didn't hear a thing.

'Sherlock?' He called out, and immediately he could hear Dean facepalm behind him. 'Really?!' Dean whispered angrily. John shortly glared at the older Winchester, who rolled his eyes and motioned his head upstairs. 'You lost the element of surprise, so you can catch the first bullets.' the look on his face seemed to say.

Well, Dean didn't know Sherlock. The few and rare occasions when John had been able to enter the apartment without Sherlock noticing him, it had always ended with Sherlock pointing a gun at his face, Sherlock had even fired a warning shot once. After that had happened, John had started to hide Sherlock's gun and always making sure he was clearly audible when walking up the stairs. But now, John didn't really want to take Sherlock by surprise, if he had been home, Sherlock would've been pretty on edge, with the broken door frame and desk of course, and he wouldn't be taking any chances. It was very well possible that when Sherlock spotted the two Winchesters he wouldn't be making any warning shots.

But when there was no response, John gripped his gun tighter and started up the stairs, closely followed by Dean.

A few seconds later, the three of them entered the living area in of the apartment. No one else was present, and a quick scout around from John and Sam showed that in the other rooms no one else was hiding. Nor were there any signs that there had been any other struggle than that of John had earlier that day.

Dean was leaning against the broken doorframe, the gun in his hand casually leaning against his hip, when both Sam and Dean returned to the living area.

'What do we do now doc?' He said, surprisingly not sounding hostile as before, but not sounding to friendly either.

So, Dean had noticed his Doctors certificate hanging on the wall, well, it wasn't like it was information he was trying to hide. John let his eyes wander across the living room as he tried to think about what to do next. Sherlock wasn't home, but somebody had left the door unlocked. And while he was wondering who if Sherlock had been the one who left the doors open. He noticed the detectives keys laying on the counter.

He squinted and walked over to the counter. So, Sherlock had indeed been home, and it seemed he had left, without taking his keys with him. To be fair, thinking about it, Sherlock rarely locked the doors. Either there was Mrs Hudson who took care of it, or John had to lock the doors while Sherlock was already on his way to the next crime scene, leaving John to hurry after him.

'What is it, John?'

Sam's voice disrupted his thoughts, he turned around and saw the two brothers looking at him, curiosity showing.

John showed them the keys.

'These are Sherlock's, he took them with him when we left the apartment this morning, so he must have returned home today, and left again without taking them.'

Again, Sam and Dean shared a look. John didn't miss the silent exchange.

Dean took the word.

'If he isn't here, then we have to find out where he's next, because if we don't, he will end up being a giant cat toy.'

John couldn't help but look annoyed.

'I know, but as you ha-'

Suddenly, there was a noise downstairs.

Immediately, the three of them got ready. Dean moved next to the door and Sam took his position at the other side of the door. John decided that the best thing he could do was to keep where he was and have his gun ready. If by any chance it was Sherlock who was climbing the chairs, the detective would see John first. Hopefully, he then had enough time to convince neither parties to do anything they would regret later. The war doctor hadn't missed that every time one of the three mentioned Sherlock, Dean's gun hand twitched and Sam moved his shoulder slightly.

But if it wasn't Sherlock who got up the stairs, John would be able to get the element of surprise on the intruder, with Sam and Dean being able to tackle the interloper from the sides.

The stairs cracked while the unknown man made his ways upstairs, it didn't sound like he was trying to be silent.

When the figure finally walked in the room, John hadn't even time to see who had entered his home, because Dean was like lightning and the second the man appeared he elbowed his stomach, making the man double over coughing.

Dean then grabbed the man by his coat and pulled him into the room where he slammed him against the wall.

'Hold up, Hold up, Hold up!' The man shouted, in a voice which was defiantly not Sherlocks.

Now the first shock was over, John had the time to take a good look at the man. He vaguely remembered him, had the feeling he had seen the guy before, like somebody you had seen on the street once or twice. Which was very likely to be correct because the man wore clothing that indicated he was one of the homeless people of London. He had yellow almost rotting teeth and already John could smell the sharp stench of smoke coming from the man.

John wasn't the only one surprised. Dean pressed his gun against the man's rib and growled. 'Who are you and what the hell do you think you're doing?'

The man's eyes widened when he felt the cold metal of the barrel trough his thin clothes.

'I, I, Nothing! Just visiting my ol' pal Sherlock, nothing worth killing for mate.' The man said, not being able to keep the uneasiness out of his voice.

John frowned.

'Sherlock, you know Sherlock?'

'Oh yes!' The man nodded frantically. 'Ol' Holmes and I were in business a few years back.'

'You're one of his networks then?' John asked.

'You could say I am.'

While John and the man exchanged these words, Sam noticed something laying on the ground. Something the man had dropped.

He bent to pick the small package from the ground and when he realised what the contents were, his eyes widened.

'John.'

John turned to Sam, who offered to him a small packet of white powder in it.

John froze when he the package, then his blood started to boil.

He left Sam standing with the small package of cocaïne while he turned around and shoved Dean out of the way. He grabbed the drug dealer by his shoulder and pushed him harder against the wall, he pressed his own gun against the man's head.

Sam and Dean were too surprised by the sudden change of attitude from the stoic doctor to do anything else than watch the two.

'Where's Sherlock?' John growled.

'I, I don't know!' The man shouted in a last attempted to save himself.

'Bullshit, Sherlock hasn't used for months, and now, today, this day of all days, you decide to plant the drugs? Like the coward dog you are, you come here to tempt him again. You piece of filth. You've seen him, today. Now, I am asking only once before I drill a bullet right trough your excuse of a brain. Where is he?' To strengthen his words, John pressed the gun even harder against the man's scalp.

'Don't need ot get angry mate! You don't want to do anything rash now!? I'll tell you, no need for harm! He came to me, asking all sorts of questions and after I told him I ain't snitching he bloody threatened me! The git. I brought my little gift as a peace offering.'

Somewhere, the man found the audacity to grin. A smug, ugly grin, with his brown and rotten teeth showing.

It took most of John's willpower to not just smash the gun right there, but years of military training had taught him how to keep his cool. He didn't have the info he needed.

'You didn't answer the question.' John's voice was dangerously low.

'I spoke the truth! I don't know where he is! He asked if I had your two friends over there.' The man nodded to Sam and Dean.'At least, I think, they fit the description. So I told them about the time I saw leather jacket at the Industrial sites south! That's all I did, I swear!'

Sam glanced at Dean. It was possible that when looking for the sphinx last night, Dean had decided to search the site where Kevin had been murdered. It was very likely in fact.

Meanwhile, Dean realised he had indeed seen the man before. The hobo had been lurking around the industrial site where Kevin's body had been found. He had thought about asking him and the guy he had been with some questions. But quickly he had noticed that the two men had been counting money and there were laying a few big cases by their feet, he had decided that he had better things to do than to try and investigate two possibly dangerous drug dealers who wouldn't be want to be bothered. Still he had chosen to do a quick scout of the area, but he hadn't found anything noteworthy.

John, still holding the man against te wall, turned his head and looked at Dean, looking for confirmation. When the older Winchester nodded, John was satisfied.

The veteran removed his gun from the man's head, for a second the man looked relieved. But then John hit him with a full blow on his jaw. Unprepared for the sudden below, he wasn't able to hold his balance and he stumbled backwards. But he found that there was no floor there. His eyes widened and he let out a silent scream when he tumbled down the stairs. He crashed bellow on the carpet and the air knocked out of his lungs. He grasped for air and placed his hands on his bruised ribs. Above the stairs, John looked down to the man. He couldn't say that he meant for the man to fall of the stairs, but he also couldn't claim it hadn't been satisfying to watch. Normally, John was of the gentle kind, but for some of humankind he didn't have any mercy.

'That is only a small example of what you will get when I see your face ever again near my home, and let me tell you. When you ever try talking to Sherlock again or dare look at him, even if he comes begging, crawling to you for his fix, then I can assure you will come to wish you had never crossed the path of a soldier of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.

The man quickly scrambled to his feet, but before he could haste away trough the door, Sam said. 'You've forgotten this, I think it belongs to you.' and he tossed the white package bag to the drug dealer.

The man snatched it off the ground with a sneer on his face before he hurried away into the rain, slamming the door behind him.

The silence returned to the apartment, and slowly the three of them started to relax again. John let out a sigh and brushed his hands trough his hair. For a second he forgot the two brothers. What did he have to do with Sherlock? To his regret, John had to admit that it wasn't the first time he had found proof that Sherlock still knew his way around the drug circles, still knew the names of the current dealers on the street. And even though John was pretty sure that Sherlock hadn't bought the coke himself, this time, it wasn't a good sign the dealer knew Sherlocks' address.

God, how he hated drugs and those who sold them.

Meanwhile, Dean and Sam were having a silent conversation.

'He's a drug addict.' Dean signed.

'Was.' Sam signed back.

'Once an addict always an addict.'

'Well, that makes you an alcoholic.'

'Shut up.'

'Jerk.'

'Bitch.'

Dean huffed and Sam shot him a glare, making sure his older brother wouldn't make a hurtful comment about the detectives addiction problems with John still present.

'I guess then the best place to go is the industrial site, what you think John? Think Sherlock would've gone there?' Sam asked the war doctor.

John snapped out of his gloom thoughts of Sherlock's past and current drug abuse and nodded firmly.

'Yes, if I know anything about Sherlock then it is that he loves to go in danger headfirst, so I don't doubt that he went there the second after that guy told him he had seen Dean there.'

'Well then, what are we waiting for? Dean exclaimed. He put his gun away and without waiting for the other two, he left the apartment, leaving both John and Sam to draw the conclusion that Sherlock wasn't the only one who liked to go into danger headfirst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, let me tell you a secret.
> 
> This was the last chapter before the grand finale.
> 
> And I'm just as excited as you are! :D I would wish that I could promise you a new chapter date, I hope two weeks. That would be lovely, but ah well, you know me. I ,however, promise that I will spend every free time I have writing the best finale I can give you! I have the thing outlined, just need to put it down on paper nicely.
> 
> Something different, I tried to get John to be a bit of the protective kind in this chapter. You know, normally Sherlock takes charge and John kinda follows him making sure our favourite detective doesn't literally kill himself with his antics, but I think, in a situation where John doesn't trust Sherlock to take care of himself, he wouldn't hesitate to take over, no matter what Sherlock's wants. So, with Sherlock being a past drug addict with several cases of relapse, I think John wouldn't really like drugdealers sneaking into his home. Yet, how do you make person so gentle* as John act like an aggressor? Well, I don't know but I tried my best! But that is why John may look a bit OC in this chapter. :)
> 
> *(I believe he's a good man goes to war kinda guy, you know, just like the the Doctor in Doctor who, the 11th, that is)
> 
> Feel free to leave a review, ask a question, leave your opinion! New followers and favs are welcome too :3
> 
> See ya later guys, Peace out and Party on XXX


	18. I'll go alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!
> 
> I hope you had a lovely easter! Again, sorry from the wait. I went away for a bit and when I came back I landed right in a test period on school! But I survived and today was the last test, so I'm fine :)
> 
> Thank you, everybody who has sticked with this story. In a bit of a confusing time in my life your kind messages are somthing that motivate me day to day, eventough my severe lack of update doesn't show it. I honestly can't thank you guy enough, but I will try. So thank you, thank you a thousand and one times for favourting, reviewing and following this work. It means the world to me.
> 
> Your patience has been tested enough! I have returned with the start of the end, and I hope you'll enjoy it.

Sherlock was only accompanied by the sounds of the rain which was drumming on the roof. He could hear the water leaking trough the broken walls and cracked ceiling. The only light he had was that from the lamppost outsides which was shining trough the windows. Luckily for him, it was enough to see the ground clearly. Yet, it seemed that he had led himself to a death end. The floor was dirty enough that his target had left footprints, but those footprints just seemed to wander around the site instead of going to a certain destination. They didn't lead to a hidden stash of weapons, they didn't lead to any disposed evidence. No, it looked like Dean had just taken a stroll inside and around the building without any cause or destination himself.

Every minute Sherlock spent in the damp building the feeling that John's trail was growing colder and colder grew bigger. And while he was still following the muddy trail of Winchester his mind was already busy deciding his next step. The Winchesters were connected with a murder about a week ago, for some reason they had decided that they needed all the stuff Kevin had on him the day he was killed, Kevin, a man who had been killed by a feline, very possible that it was some kind of gang retribution attack. Also, the Winchesters had faked their death and were active in the US acting as terrorists without an obvious motive.

Sherlock had gone over the facts so many times, and every time a new puzzle piece was found it made less and less sense. Normally, by figuring out what his targets motive were he could unravel what their next step was going the be. But the Winchesters acted at random. If their only objective was to retrieve the belongs of Kevin than their next logical step was to leave the country as soon as possible. If they had been intimidated by him and John when they had followed them trough the alleyways they could've taken care of him when he had been laying unconscious on the ground. Instead, they had left him for the authorities to find. Only to go after John a day later.

It made no sense, yet. But he would figure out their agenda the moment he had found them. Because even though the trail was growing colder, Sherlock was only warming up. He had alerted te rest of his homeless network. The moment one of the Winchester brothers set a foot outside in London, he would know. He considered his next steps.

1\. Stay here and try and try to figure out why Dean Winchester had decided to return to the crime scene last night

2\. Head out and meet up with Lestrade which would grant him access to London's police corps.

3\. Ask Mycroft for assistance

4\. Don't ask Mycroft for assistance but impersonate him and hack into London's surveillance cameras to figure out where the Winchesters had been.

Sherlock crouched down and inspected a place where Dean had halted for a minute, apparently something had taken his interest. While inspecting the ground he came to the conclusion that option 4 was the obvious way to go. But before he could actually execute his plan, he heard the click of a safety mechanism being disabled on a gun.

It didn't take a genius to figure out who was holding said gun.

Slowly Sherlock got up from the ground and turned around, making sure he didn't make any sudden movements.

'Dean Winchester, you just made this evening a lot less complex by showing up.'

Dean stood before him, his wet hair was stuck to his face and his leather jacket was shining from the water. His shoulders were tense and his burning cold eyes drilled his. He looked eerily similar like the murderers in teenage horror movies. In his hand, Dean held a gun Sherlock recognised as his own, and it was pointed right at his face.

'Really?' Dean sneered, his eyes not moving from the unarmed man before him.

'I was hoping to make it just a bit more difficult.'

-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-

A little earlier that evening.

-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-

This cab drive hadn't been much more comfortable than the first one the three of them had shared, but it had been an improvement.

'You sure this is the right address?' The cab driver asked Dean hesitantly while he eyed the dark buildings suspiciously.

'Yes, this is it. Here the police found Kevin's body.' John answered looking outside. He frowned as a feeling of dread started to creep in his mind. He couldn't help but wonder if it was fate's humor to lead him back to where it all began those few days ago. It made him feel rather uneasy, to put it lightly.

But it seemed his companions didn't share his unsettled feelings because Sam was already paying the driver and Dean was already outside proclaiming; 'Yeah, this seems about right. Looks like every other shit hole where these kinds of creeps like to hide out.'

John wasn't really sure if Dean was talking about Sherlock, the sphinx, or junkies, but he decided for the sake of peace that it would be better if he didn't ask.

Soon, the three of them stood where alone again. The taxi had driven off the second Sam had closed his door, seemingly not all to bothered to leave the three passengers standing in the rain all by themselves in this shady place.

And a shady place it was, but for the three of it was nothing new. Sam and Dean used places like this themselves when something needed summoning or, as was far more often the case, an exorcism. John was familiar with places like this because abandoned buildings seemed murderers favourite places to dump bodies, leaving them there for Sherlock and himself to find.

Sam was looking for an entrance when he began to speak.

'Right, well, I think the fastest way to find your friend is if we split up. In three groups we can cover more ground, and the sooner we find Sherlock and get away from here, the better.'

John wanted to agree but before he could say anything, Dean said;

'What, hell no Sammy.'

'What?' Sam couldn't help but raise his voice slightly. He turned to Dean with a look of slight unbelief and annoyance on his face. He wanted to continue but Dean was faster.

'You don't even have a weapon Sam, what are you gonna do if the Sphinx is already here? Because I doubt that even you can take on a lion-human hybrid on with only your hands.'

Sam squinted, Dean had a point.

'Well, what is your plan then? Spend the rest of the night searching for this guy? Because, honestly Dean, I don't think we have that much time.'

Dean huffed.

'It's simple, you go with the doctor, I'll go alone.' He crossed his arm, waiting for his brothers protest which would inevitably follow.

'And why is it any safer for you to go alone then it is for me?' Sam said as he began to glare.

'Well, I didn't answer some Sphinx's riddle wrong causing it to try and kill me. Because you know, if it decides that you are an easier pray than this Sherlock, it will come after you, and you won't be able to kill it. The doctor, however, will be. So he's going with you. End of discussion.'

Dean's voice didn't leave any room for arguing. Sam squinted his eyes again, but Dean didn't look away, instead he raised an eyebrow, daring his little brother to challenge his logic.

Finally, Sam huffed. 'Fine, whatever makes you happy.'

'Good.' Dean said, not really hiding his smugness of having won yet another argument with his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes but then became serious again.

'Okey, Dean, we meet here again in an hour, if anything you see anything out of the ordinary you call us.'

'Yeah, yeah, standard protocol, geez Sam, you're acting like I've never hunted before.' Dean dismissed Sam's worries and wanted to leave already, but Sam stopped him.'

'Dean, anything out of the ordinary includes finding Sherlock. If you find him, you get him out of there stat, and you won't start any trouble. What happened in the alleys was a misunderstanding, simple as that.'

Dean's eyes became dark for a second when he remembered seeing his brother covered in his own blood which had ben richly flowing from the gun wound in his shoulder, the gun wound which Sherlock had caused.

'I'll handle it.' Dean grunted, and he disappeared into the maze of buildings, gun already drawn.

'You really think that was a smart idea?' John said with some accusation in his voice. He knew Sherlock was one stubborn git, and what he had seen from Dean in the past few hours suggested that he wasn't any different. He dreaded the thought of them together, as allies and as enemies.

Sam stared at the spot where Dean had disappeared in the darkness. The same uneasy feeling John had felt in the cab now started creeping on him too.

'Yeah.' Sam said, keeping his eyes locked on the dark spot. 'Dean can be a pain in the ass, but he isn't stupid. He'll be able to keep things professional, for now...'

John had the feeling that Sam was only saying that to convenience himself than to reassure John. But it did neither, because Sam hadn't been able to keep the doubt out of his voice. Something that John hadn't missed.

-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-

present

-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-o0o-

Sherlock observed the man before him. This time, he could see things he hadn't spotted before in the hospital, mainly because Dean wasn't acting nor wearing a disguise. And what he saw, kind off disappointed Sherlock. Somebody who could fake his own death and the death of his brother multiple times, could commit crimes which would otherwise land him in the electric chair and get away with it, that person wasn't supposed to look like any other thug on the street. Usually, Sherlock dealt with more refined people, and what he saw before him was anything but a refined man.

No, the way he was dressed, the way the fire in his eyes burned like that of a rabid dog he didn't look anything like the gentlemen Sherlock was used too. He had more way of a lost 90's rock-band member than an evil genius.

But that didn't change the fact that this man knew where John was. So while eyeing the man he took a step to his right, fully aware that the gun followed his every move.

'Well, assuming that you did indeed made the foolish decision to come all the way up here solely to make an attempt at harassing me, let me ask you the obvious question as to why. Why come all the way down here, when you could've left the country right after the moment you retrieved your little friends stuff from the morgue. Why waste your time on me?'

Sherlock took another step to his right, and this time, Dean responded by also sidestepping to his right. The Winchester smirked.

'Well, you really are a pretentious ass if you think I would stay here to entertain your petty detective business.'

Sherlock took another step acted like he was intrigued, but he didn't fool anyone.

'Really, well that is indeed interesting. It seems then that you are not only a raging psychopath who likes to drag their family along to hell, but you are also incredibly, insufferably, plain stupid.'

The consulting detective immediately saw he struck a cord as he mentioned family, because Dean's smirk turned into a grimace. Interesting indeed...

Yet, Dean recovered quickly as he mirrored Sherlock's movements.

'You are calling me a psychopath?' He asked with mocked disbelief. 'You know, I never imagined I would be called a psychopath by somebody who shoots who shoots random people on the street.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'Don't try to humor me, Dean Winchester, you and your brother are anything but ordinary bystanders, although your apparel suggests otherwise. And you think I misdescribed you by calling you a psychopath? Because I think that somebody who's hobbies include robbing banks and torture the innocent to death fits the description of a psychopath perfectly.'

Dean tightened his jaw.

'You don't even remotely know what you're talking about.' He said with a dangerously low voice.

'To be honest, I think this little mystery isn't so hard to solve. It's rather cliche actually. Mother dies young age, Daddy is left alone to raise two young boys but can't handle the pressure so you were abused as kids. Which of course caused depression, schizophrenia and a lot of other interesting issues. You know, that sad part is of the story is that you actually felt the necessity to include your only other living family member in your path of rampage. From what I've read about your brother he almost was able to escape from your grasp. But no, you had to-.'

'That's enough!' Dean hissed to his clenched jaw.'

'Then why are you here!' Sherlock shouted back, finally losing his cool facade. 'Why, if you care so much about your brother did you take the risk to trash my own apartment and take John, who doesn't pose any threat to you! Why didn't you leave and why bother coming here if you care so much?'

'To save your ungrateful bitchy ass!' Dean shouted back as he, at last, lowered his gun. 'And don't you dare fucking ask me why, because at this moment I don't see why anybody considers you worth saving.'

The moments Sherlock had been taken aback he could can't on one hand. Dean had the pleasure of witnessing one of these rare moments. The detective's mouth opened, and closed again. Then he squinted.

'What do you mean?' All the possibilities shot trough Sherlock's head. Was Dean trying to throw him off scent? Was the Winchester actually mad? Were there actually two rival gangs at work in London, and was one of them after Sherlock for some reason? That didn't make any sense. Dean didn't make any sense

'You'll know soon enough if we leave this shit hole far behind.' Dean grunted, putting away his gun.

'I'm not going anywhere until you give me some answers.' Sherlock answered, back to his stubborn self.

'What?' Dean wiped his hand across his face in annoyance. 'Whatever, look, you're searching for your friend, right? John, the doctor? Well, if you go with me we'll meet him outside.'

Sherlock's eyes widened.

'What, John's here? How, Why?'

'Like I said before, apparently to get your shitface out of here.' Dean answered irritated. 'Look we-'

He was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot somewhere else in the building.

'Shit.' Dean cursed, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't alone. He reached for his gun again.

'Who else is here?' Sherlock demanded, desperately wishing for the gun Dean was now holding. His own gun for Pete's sake.

'Well, whoever it is I doubt they are here for your tea party.' Dean growled as he began to leave the open area they were in, into the direction of where the gunshot sound had come from. As in a second thought, he turned around and looked at Sherlock.

'You're coming or not?'

For a second Sherlock didn't respond. He briefly wondered if this was all some kind of highly elaborated trap, but really, if that was the cause he wasn't going to ruin it. It would be interesting to see it unfold. But somewhere in his mind, he started to doubt if his first conclusion about the Winchester had been right. He curtly nodded.

'Let's go.'

And side by side, the two left the hall and ventured in the dark and dimly lit hallways. Neither of them knowing what had happened to their other two companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is drawing near, and so is danger for our beloved protagonists.
> 
> Only two chapters remain! (I think) and I am eager to wrap this puppy up! Testing period is over on my school so I promise that this time it won't be two months between now and the next chapter! It will be closer to two weeks this time, like I promised with the last chapter.
> 
> Again, thank to everybody who reviewed and have been so patient with me. Feel free to ask questions or leave another message in the reviews! Or you can of course PM me :) Constructive criticism is of course welcomed too!
> 
> I'll see you guys soon!
> 
> Peace out and Party on xxx


	19. Family Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geuss who's back? Back again?
> 
> It's a me! With a chapter! Wooooooo #party
> 
> Thanks to every loyal reader, follower, favouriter (is that even a word?) and reviewer, you guys are awesome! Like, really! You're supporting a dream people, that aint nothing! So thank you, and please continue your love and I will bring you the last one/two chapter(s) asap!
> 
> SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR S1EP1 SUPERNATURAL, BUT YOU PROBABLY WON'T EVEN NOTICE!
> 
> Now, I'll leave you to it!
> 
> Enjoy!

John was very glad Sam had thought about bringing a flashlight. They were wandering around in the hallways, and there were no windows or open spaces which allowed any light to come in. If it wasn't for the flashlight, they would walk in complete darkness. So when John was staring at Sam's back while they made their way through the building, he couldn't help but wonder why he nor Sherlock had ever had thought about bringing a flashlight. It wasn't like they never needed one, quite the opposite actually. The two of them had found themselves many times in situations where a flashlight would've solved a lot of problems. Yet it seemed that to this day that the only thing Sherlock and John ever took with them was a gun.

Sam had missed John's surprised, maybe even amused look, and had flicked on the light. The beam of light swayed around the dark corridors looking for any traces of the consulting detective. Behind him, John was providing backup. With his gun in his hand, he was able to cover Sam when anything that wasn't Sherlock came rushing out of the dark.

But as John watched Sam do his work, checking every corner for movement and tensed, listening for sounds other than their own breathing and footsteps. His mind began to wander and slowly he replaced the big figure of Sam before him with his own sister, Harry. Harry, who Mycroft had claimed was a hunter too.

He wondered if she too had ever hunted at sphinxes, sneaking around abandoned buildings. He already could see her, with her hair in unkept strands, her clothes still reeking of alcohol yet her eyes sharp. He wondered if she ever brought a flashlight...

'...would've gone?'

John realised Sam had been talking to him.

The veteran slightly shook his head to clear mind.

'I'm sorry, what did you say?'

Sam halted and turned around, the flashlight was pointed to the ground to not blind the doctor. In the shadows he looked John in the eyes as he narrowed his own slightly, wondering what John had been thinking about. You would've thought that a soldier, even a retired one, would've known better than to let his mind slip.

'I asked you if you knew where your friend would've gone first. You know, after entering a building like this it is little use to wander aimlessly around.' Sam didn't say that wandering aimlessly felt exactly what he and John had been doing for the last half an hour.

Still caught up with his own thoughts, John frowned.

'I eh, think he would've gone to a certain room per se. No, first he would've looked for any traces left by the person he has been following. But if he didn't find those...' He was silent for a minute, and the only sound that filled the room was their own soft breathing. He continued, slower this time. 'If he couldn't find those... He would've gone for the obvious route...'

'Meaning?' Sam asked as John didn't continue.

John shot his younger companion a short annoyed look, didn't he see he was thinking?

'Meaning.' John said, louder than necessary.'That he would've gone to a place which seems most safe for the average person, probably a room with lights or something.'

Sam cocked his head and raised his flashlight. He let it light up the damp walls around him and the floors full of broken equipment, furniture, and glass. Nowhere there was a speck of light, aside of their own.

'So he wouldn't be here.' He sighed, slightly annoyed. He turned and started walking again with John quickly in tow.

The two of them made their way through the winding corridors which seemed to have no end. Sometimes they passed a room with little light from the outside, but a quick scout revealed that there hadn't been anybody in that room for the last few weeks, maybe even months. And every time Sam stood still to listen to some seemingly irrelevant noise, every time he could see that he man before him held his breath for a few seconds, John thought about whatever brought the Winchesters to this, this stalking in the dark this. With Sherlock, it was simple. He did it for fun, to satisfy his morbid sense of curiosity and superiority. For John, it was a bit more complicated. But what he did not dare to admit to anybody, not even himself, was that in the end; Sherlocks and his reasoning were the same. But from the way Sam's jaw was tightened, the way his eyes flicked from side to side, searching, scanning every inch of the shadows before him; He doubted Sam had the same morbid feelings to satisfy he and Sherlock had to. But those feelings weren't the only one thing John needed to satisfy, curiosity was high on that list too.

'So, you and your brother enjoy scurrying around in the dark?' John asked trying to sound casual.

'What?' Sam sounded liked he hadn't expected the question, which was probably true.

John continued, still trying to sound like he was talking about the weather.

'Because I certainly don't enjoy scouting out abandoned buildings, god knows why Sherlock seems to love it so much. But to be honest, you don't look like you enjoy it very much either.'

Sam let out a humorless laugh as he shook his head softly.

'I fear it isn't as simple as you make it seem'

'Really? Because sometimes it is. You do something or you don't. Surely you must have your reasons.' This time, an edge of curiosity, some would say suspicion, had entered his voice.

The two of them had halted again. John was suddenly very aware of the height difference between the two of them. If he had ever thought that Sherlock had been tall, then surely that made Sam huge. John didn't need to be a master in deduction to see that the Winchester had been in many fights, and won most of them. The broad shoulders of him told him enough. Yet John wasn't nervous, it wasn't like he had never stood up against those who were bigger than himself.

Sam had tightened his jaw. Involuntarily the memories of fire filled his head. Her silent scream, the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh. He thought about all those time he had seen eyes turn black, lives go up in flames and lights flicker out. All those times he had seen mangled corpses of strangers and friends in morgues, alleyways, and homes.

But in just a few seconds, those memories passed and he was back here with the doctor, standing in some kind of abandoned building with only a flashlight, doing what he did best.

'It's the family business.' He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

John, not quite sure which emotions had flashed shortly on his companions face, opened his mouth again to speak. But somebody, something, was faster.

'Family business.' A female voice hissed from the darkness.

Sam quickly turned around, cursing himself for getting distracted and cursing John for distracting him. His beam of light flashed against the walls and eventually rested on the figure of a woman standing lonely in the middle of the room they were in. Her high heels and corbert jacket seemd strangely out of place. There was a look on her face John couldn't describe, but Sam could. It was hunger.

'It's always the family business.' She growled, her voice becoming lower. 'The family business. Is that what gave you the right to disturb ancient artifacts which it is my business to protect.

Sam swallowed. Bobby's words ran clearly through his head. You could only kill a Sphinx if you solved its riddle, and even after that, you could only kill it by strangulating it. And while he had thought about bringing a flashlight, he hadn't thought about bringing a rope.

The woman showed it's teeth, which weren't teeth actually. They were fangs.

'Family business.' She spat, her face full of disgust. And then she leapt at them.

John worked on instinct. Sensing that the woman, or you know, sphinx, was to close for him to shoot at, he dropped down and did a combat roll to the side. But it wasn't John that was the Sphinx's target. Sam, having the same idea, had already sunk to the ground when she crashed into him. Her claws dug deep in his shoulders and he could feel the flashlight fall from his hand. As they rolled together over the ground, she snapping her jaws and he trying to get hold of her throat, he could feel the bullet wound rip open again, warm blood flowed over his shoulder. He didn't have time to scream. Together they crashed against a wall and all the air was pushed out of his lungs.

Unfortunately for Sam, the fall hadn't ended in his favour. He now laid under 300 pounds ball of fur, claws and teeth. Still gasping for air, he finally got hold of her neck. Growling she snapped at him, her weird human and feline mixed teeth just inches from his face. She howled in frustration and snapped again, one of her big paws now rested on his chest and she had him pinned on the ground, unable to escape. His efforts of trying to press her windpipe shut didn't seem to bother her at all.

Sam couldn't see anything. Without his flashlight, all that was around him was darkness and growling. And suddenly, to his dismay, he could feel the pressure on his chest growing. With every second that past, it became more difficult to breathe. White stars started to appear and lack of air plus the foul breath of the beast atop of him made him nauseous. Again her jaws snapped, but he managed to keep her away from his face. Yet, if he didn't get air soon he wouldn't be able to hold her anymore.

'John!' He grunted through his teeth, using his last breath of air.

And then, out of nowhere, Sam was bathed in light. He now could clearly see the beast, looming over him. Her twisted, human-shaped face was surrounded in fur and her he pupils in her ebony eyes were small, black slits.

He needed to breathe...

There was a deafening bang, followed by one of the more horrifying howls Sam had heard. It was a combination of a woman and that of a wild cat, both getting stabbed and burned. Then, the weight was lifted from his chest and he could breathe again. The Sphinx ripped herself loose from his already weakening grip and then she was gone from his sight. Unaware of his surroundings all Sam could do was breath. He filled his long with air and slowly his vision started to clear. Seconds later, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

'I'm. Alright.' Sam managed to say in between the gasps of air and he tried to get upright, but John's hand gently hold him down.

'I'll be the judge of that.' John said absently, having heard that particular phrase to many times in his life as an army doctor.

Sam decided that in a minute, when he had regained his breath, he would be in a better position to argue, so he settled for the moment with just focusing on his breathing. Meanwhile, John was inspecting the damage.

Sam clothes were all torn up, ripped to shreds by the Sphinx's razor sharp claws. Underneath the remnants of Sam's shirt, John could see gashes all over the hunter's chest, one of those gashes cut a tattoo of a pentagram encircled in flames straight through the middle. They weren't too deep, John mused, but they weren't shallow either. They would need stitching eventually, otherwise they would leave nasty scars. Already John could see bruises form on the Winchester's chest. But, from the sound of Sam's ragged breathing, it didn't seem like he had a collapsed long, luckily. But rather worrying, Sam was losing a fair bit of blood from the old wound that had been ripped open, making it twice the size it had originally been. That would need immediate attention, or Sam would lose to much blood to function properly. Quickly deciding that Sam's ripped up plaid jacket would do, he quickly tore a few strips of cloth. Sam didn't protest.

John folded one piece of cloth and pressed it against the open gun wound, cursing himself not for bringing his med kit, or water for the matter. Now the wound wasn't cleaned properly and Sam had been rolling around on the dirty ground fighting with a sphinx (Did sphinxes spread diseases?) the wound, or any wound Sam had sustained, would have a high chance of infecting.

But you have to work with the tools you have. Sam hissed slightly when the cloth touched his wounds, but didn't make any other sound while John was working. After the first pieced of cloth sealed the wound he used to rest of the strips to bondage it. While John was finishing up his work, Sam asked.

'What took you so long anyway?'

John didn't look away from his work, his hands working quickly and skillfully.

'You dropped the light and I couldn't aim properly anymore. So I had to find the flashlight first, thought you appreciate it if I actually hit the Sphinx instead of you.' He said dryly.

Sam nodded slowly.

'Fair point.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do the finale in one big chapter, but it would've been ridiculously big! So, split up once again! Anyhow, yes, John shot the Sphinx and it didn't like that. But why? I can hear you ask, well, find out in the next chapter! :D
> 
> Anyhow, I'll be in my writing cave, working on the next chapter! You can reach me per review, pm or anything similar :P
> 
> Thank you for reading! And feel free to leave to review! Let's finally push this puppy over a 100 shall we :D
> 
> See ya around, soon! (Because I have vacation! Wooooooooo)
> 
> Peace out and party on xxx


	20. oh no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? A chapter that is on time? It's a miracle!
> 
> Thanks to everybody who left a kudo and a comment! :D
> 
> Anyhow because this is a long chapter it's probablly riddled with mistakes and errors and all that jazz, but I have checked it tree times and ran it through two spelling checkers, but I doubt I have caught every mistake! Really, trying to write with dyslexia isn't really an ideal, but you gotta deal with the things you have right? :D
> 
> I'm proud to announce, chapter 20! And it's a long one!

Dean was very aware of the man behind him. He could feel Sherlock's eyes drill deeply in his back, observing every movement he made. Somewhere in the back of his mind he couldn't shake the feeling that Sherlock must be calculating the best place to plant a knife , probably right between his shoulders. But for the moment Dean decided that he would deal with that feeling later, now he needed to be alert. In his left hand he held his flashlight and crossing over his left arm he held his gun in his right hand. They were sneaking through the darker parts of the building, quietly but quickly making their way to where the sound of the gunshot had come from.

When Dean had produced the flashlight from his jacket, he hadn't missed Sherlock's raised eyebrow.

'What?' The Winchester had barked.

'Oh, nothing. Just surprised that somebody like you would've thought about bringing about bringing a flashlight.' Sherlock had answered, flashing his teeth quickly in a fake polite smile.

'Well then, where's your flashlight?' Dean snapped back.

When Sherlock didn't answer Dean smirked.

'Thought so you prick' He had whispered under his breath as he had turned away.

After the first gunshot, they hadn't heard a thing. Dean was struggling to not just whip out his phone and call his brother, but he knew better. If Sam had by any chance run off to hide or seek shelter after the first short, his ringing phone could betray his position. No, they had an agreement; Wait fifteen minutes after the first shot before you call. Otherwise, it's the rule; first to shoot, first to call.

So he was relieved when the sound of his ringtone disturbed the silence.

Ignoring Sherlock's suspicious look he put the gun in the same hand as his flashlight and reached into his pocket, quickly finding his phone he put it against his ear.

'Sammy, you alright?' He practically shouted into the phone

'Geez Dean, no need to shout remember. Yeah, I'm fine. You found Sherlock?'

'Yeah, I found the psychopath.'

'Sociopath.' Sherlock corrected.

'What?' Dean shot a slightly confused look at Sherlock, who just blinked at him.

Dean rolled is eyes. 'Whatever.' He muttered under his breath.

'Dean?'

'Yeah, I'm here Sammy.'

'Good, listen. We were right, the Sphinx is here. John shot it and he said it wounded her, so it seems that Bobby was wrong about that only strangling a sphinx will kill it.'

'But when I shot at it in the museum it did jack shit.'

'Well, seems like Bobby was right about one thing at least.'

'Lucky us. Now, what's the plan, because I'm guessing that shot didn't ice the fucker.'

'Afraid not, but we need to regroup. I think John is currently the only one that can harm it. And now it isn't here anymore, it isn't hard to guess where the Sphinx is going next.'

'Sound's like a plan, but-'

'I want the phone.' Sherlock said.

'What? No, fuck off'

'What?'

'Not you Sam.' Dean shot back while glaring at Sherlock.

'That's your brother you're talking too, and from what would be logical, if you have been speaking the truth, what I am still a bit doubtful of, John would be with Sam.' Sherlock said, voice void of emotion but eyes glinting dangerously.

'Look, I know you want to act all high and mighty like every fucktwit detective vigilante these days. But-'

'Dean, John's asking if he can speak with Sherlock'

'What, no wait Sam-'

'Dean.'

'I-'

'Don't be such a whiny bitch about it.'

For a second, Dean didn't move. Then, without a word, he handed the phone to Sherlock. It wasn't often that Sam called him out on his childish behaviours like he had just done, but when he did, it was effective. Dean held a sharp eye on Sherlock and strained his ears to hear what the person on the other side was saying, but it was of no use. All he could hear was a muffled voice. Sherlock's voice however, he could hear.

'John, you're alright?'

When the other voice was answering, Sherlock's eyes shortly flashed to look at Dean, but otherwise there wasn't a reaction.

'What are you doing here?'

'What do you mean?'

'That is not a viable answer and you know that.'

This time, the silence was a bit longer. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'Fine.' He bit back to John.

'Now, the best place to regroup is the factory hall.' Sherlock continued.

A muffled answer.

'Where are you?'

Sherlock listened intently before he answered.

'Good, from that position you need to take the second door to the left and then you take the stairs down. Then you follow the hallway to the end and you take the door to your right, after you passed through that door you open the one directly in front of you and you are in the factory hall. We'll meet your there.'

Not waiting for an answer from his friend, Sherlock ended the call and addressed Dean.

'You're brother is wounded. Not life threatening, for the moment, but John warned me that he won't be able to hold long against our opponent.'

'Lying bastard.' Dean said through his gritted teeth. When would his brother learn not to lie about injuries? Dean ,of course, ignored the fact that it was rare for himself to admit having sustained injury, but that didn't matter. He swore that the next time he caught Sam lying about injuries he would make sure that add a black eye to the list of things Sam had to worry about.

'I wouldn't worry that much if I were you. John is with him, and I can personally tell you that John has taken care and healed people with far worse injuries.' Sherlock's voice had been soft. When Dean looked up he could, for the first time, see some sympathy on his companions face, maybe even concern. Surprised by the sudden kindness, Dean wanted to say something.

'I-'

'Now, I want your flashlight.' And as sudden the kindness had appeared on Sherlock's face, so sudden in disappeared again, replaced by his old, cold look.

'And why the hell would I give you my flashlight?' Dean scoffed, squinting, forgetting all about the kind words the detective had just said.

'Because I have your phone.'

Sherlock, Dean noticed, was indeed still holding his phone.

'Well, why don't you give it back and we can be on our way.' Dean sighed annoyed.

'No.'

'I'm not-'

'You know, I would've asked for your gun, wait, my gun which you stole from me-'

'after you used it to shoot my brother' Dean growled with dark eyes, but Sherlock ignored him and continued.

'-But I decided to settle for your flashlight. And besides that, you wouldn't even know the way back.'

'I do know the way back you pretentious prick, you aren't the only gifted with the abilities to count the corridors!' Dean exclaimed.

'Fair enough, I believe you when you say that you know the way back. But I know a faster way.' Sherlock said, sounding not all that impressed, rather annoyed actually.

'You're-'

'If you don't give me your flashlight, I will use your phone as light.' He interrupted Dean.

'That will drain the battery and that way we won't be able to talk to Sam, or John for the matter.' Dean sounded like he was talking to a toddler.

'Yes, I know. It would be better if you just gave me your flashlight.'

For a second neither of them moved. Sherlock looking as casual as ever, except for his eyes, which challenged Dean to pull his gun out and take a shot at him if he didn't give him the flashlight. And Dean, almost fuming with clenched jaw and hands made into a fist.'

'Fine.' Dean managed to spit out and he raised his hand with the flashlight.

'Good, glad's that settled. I'll give you your phone back when we have met up with your brother and John.' Sherlock said rather smugly after he had grabbed the flashlight.

'What, that wasn't the deal!' Dean shouted after Sherlock who was already gone, on his way to the room they had left only ten minutes earlier.

'What deal?' Was the only answer he got from the consulting detective.

After muttering some of his more colourful swear words he caught up with his companion.

'How do you know this shortcut anyway?' Dean said, his gun slightly raised and scanning the hallways before him. He would get his phone back, eventually.

'I saw the blueprints of this buildings once a while ago, for another case I had been working on.' Sherlock answered, not taking his eyes from the way in front of them.

'You saw the blueprints once and now you remember the whole layout?' Dean said, not really trying to hide his disbelief.

'Yes, that is what I said. No need to repeat that.'

'You're full of shit.' Dean scoffed.

'I certainly am not. Well, not today at least. It's what I do.' Sherlock said like he was explaining what he had for breakfast that morning.

Dean didn't answer. They continued their small journey back in silence. Sherlock in front handling the flashlight and Dean following, gun ready for action for when he saw something move in the shadows. Eventually they entered the they had met each other the same evening.

'Looks like Sam and John aren't here yet.' Dean commented after a quick look.

'Well, glad you aren't completely blind.' Sherlock sighed back.

'You sure are full of compliments.' Dean scampered as he went to search the room, leaving Sherlock standing on his own with the now redundant flashlight as this room was light enough so that he could see without it.

Most of the working equipment had been taken away or stolen ages ago, so the only things that were left were broken down furniture and machines and a floor full of broken glass.

Minutes passed in silence as Dean inspected the room and Sherlock inspected Dean from afar. Dean Winchester, an unlikely ally. But John had assured him that the two Winchester were indeed allies, and he trusted John. John had been very vague as to why he had decided to join up with the two brothers, or why the brothers were here in the first place, but apparently there was something in this building hunting Sherlock, and one of the two brothers. It had managed to injure the bigger of the two Winchesters gravely enough to cause John worry so it wasn't just like any other tug. But John had spoken about a single being, how only one person could take out a war veteran like John and somebody as muscular as the younger brother a mystery for Sherlock, for the moment at least. But he was sure he would find out before the sun showed itself again.

'I can't explain right now, just, trust Dean okay? He will know what to do.'

Sherlock didn't know what Dean had done or said to gain John's not easily given trust. Dean Winchester. Sherlock had been called a psychopath many times in his life, but never before by a person who had murdered about a dozen of people, faked his death several times and still sure he was fighting the right battle. Dean Winchester, suffering from PTSD, depression, abandonment issues and a lot more. Sherlock could see it all. That man had gone through a lot and had stuffed it all away in some dark corner of his mind just to be able to reach the next morning. Sherlock didn't want to admit it, but he was rarely so curious about somebody then he was about Dean Winchester. But he already knew one thing, his weak spot, his brother. He had seen the flicker of panic flash on the Winchesters' face when he learned his brother had been injured and the Dean's grudge, maybe even hatred, for him had sparked out of the fact Sherlock had shot his brother in the alleyways. Dean Winchester, a mystery worth solving.

Not that he would let the Winchester know about his lust for answers, no way in a million years would he give he companion the satisfaction of knowing that he had intrigued and even slightly confused the world's greatest detective.

An empty can of paint fell on the ground.

Simuntainly Sherlock and Dean spun around. In the entrance of the far right there stood a woman, a woman Sherlock vaguely recognised. Her hair was a mess and she was smeared with filth, her business clothes were torn and one of her hands was pressing on a wound on her side, a wound which was still producing blood what poured through her fingers. There was something wrong with her, and a second later it hit Sherlock. It were her eyes. They weren't normal human eyes. Her pupil wasn't round, they were small slits, like that of a cats.

This was obvious the person John had shot earlier. But how had she been able to hurt such a big person as Sam Winchester and be too fast for John to catch. She was slim, yes, but not athletic. John should've had no problem taking her down. Hell, Sherlock figured he would be able to take her down. But why was she wearing carnival contact lenses, and why had she attacked Sam in the first place?

'Sherlock, get over here.' Dean commanded Sherlock. Dean, who stood now with his gun in both hands, raised and ready for action. Not that it would work, but it gave Dean himself some hope. He didn't feel completely naked. Sherlock, of course, had no idea the gun wouldn't work.

'Sherlock.' She hissed, her voice wasn't what the detective had expected. It was a kind of growl, not very unlike of that of cats. It didn't sound any bit like when Dean had been growling at him.

'You failed my riddle.' She hissed taking a step.

'Sherlock get your ass over here!' Dean was now shouting.

But Sherlock was intrigued by the person before him. He realised where he had seen her before

'You're the lady from the museum.' He said. It wasn't a question. Her response was a hiss and another step.

Sherlock cocked his head.

'Well, what an unexpected turn of events.' He commented sounding rather uninterested.

'Sherlock! If you do-'

Dean never finished his sentence. Before his eyes, and Sherlock's too, the woman changed. She let go of her side and fell with outstretched arms on the ground. But her hands weren't hands anymore, they were claws. Her curved back grew bigger, longer and fur began to replace her skin and clothes. Her hips grew broader and a tail sprouted from her behinds. Within seconds, the woman before them had been replaced by a lioness with a woman head.

She stood softly growling before the two of them.

Sherlock was frozen. He blinked a few times, desperately tried to remember when he had taken the drugs that caused the image to him. But he couldn't remember, he hadn't taken drugs for some time, hadn't hallucinated like he did now for a long time. Was it the Winchester, had the Winchester tricked him somehow, poisoned him somehow? No, he couldn't have. He would've noticed, right? He swallowed.

'Dean.'

'Sherlock you need to get here now.'

'That's a Sphinx.' Sherlock completed his sentence dully. It sounded like he had just pointed out some bird in a tree, he sounded a bit defeated.

She roared loudly and she leapt at him.

A deafening bang echoed against the wall and the beast was stopped air. Surprised but not hurt by the shot she turned to Dean. The bullet that had drilled itself in her side seconds ago felt on the ground again, no harm done, and unlike her other wound, this one quickly closed.

Roaring in anger she changed course and pounced at Dean, who managed to shoot her a second time. But it was of no use. She slammed against his shoulders and Dean landed hard on the ground. The air was knocked out his lungs and he lost hold of his gun.

'You should stop doing that.' She hissed. 'You're only wasting bullets.' Her breath was awful, reeking of rotting meat. Dean wasn't able to move his arms, she had pinned him on the ground.

'Well, you're wasting your time too. Because you can't kill me, bitch.' Dean was smiling the smile of a madman. She had never asked him a riddle, she couldn't touch him.

'I can't? I guess I can't then, yet' She asked, grinning a horrible grin. She moved one of her paws so it was now placed on his throat. Dean's eyes grew big when she realised what she was about to do. One of his arms was now free and he moved up to stop her, grab anything, her throat, her face, her mouth, anything. But already was he struggling to see clearly. Oh god how he hoped that Sherlock had done the sensible thing and fled. If he was able to find John and Sam he stood a change.

'Hey!' Sherlock's voice called through the void.

Shit.

Dean wanted to scream at Sherlock to run, to find John and to not be such a stubborn fool and stay in the same room an ancient, deadly, fur ball was in. But the 300-pound beast was still standing atop of him, on him even so Dean had a bit of trouble finding the air to breathe, let alone shouting. If the Sphinx didn't lift his paw soon she would succeed at her plan, making him pass out but not killing him, yet.

'I think you're looking for me, aren't you? Common lore tells that Sphinxes only can kill those who fall to answer a riddle correctly.' Sherlock's voice grew steadier with every word. He was relieved to see that he had caught the beast's attention. He could hear the rumble of her growl as she turned to him, effectively stepping of Dean, who immediately gasped for air.

Sherlock looked at the beast as it stalked closer. Somewhere in the back of his mind the detective part of his brain was ticking off some boxes, it explained the wounds Kevin had sustained and the lion footprints they had found on the scene. But when the human and lion hybrid moved closer to him, the larger part of his mind was shouting at him, telling him he was dreaming, he was high, hallucinating probably, he was going mad.

Then, an unexpected calmness filled Sherlock's mind. He concluded he was indeed going mad. But that didn't matter. He had been mad before. The only solution for when the world was going mad, was to join. So he did, he set aside his worries about his mental health took a short, sharp breath.

Now, how do you defeat a Sphinx? He had a few seconds to find out. He could already see his own reflection in her eyes.

'Riddles.' He blurted out, and to his relief, she halted. She cocked her head like a confused dog. A plan formed in Sherlock's head.

'Riddles, indeed. You know, the one you asked wasn't really impressive.' He continued talking slowly.

She sneered at him.

'You dare to insult a riddle you couldn't even solve.'

Inside Sherlock was shaking, outside, he looked like his old unimpressed self. He waved her concerns away.

'Please, if I had bothered to actually think about your riddle for a few seconds I would've solved it. Even dear old John could solve your riddle! It isn't that difficult if you think about it honestly.'

'Well, if you are so sure about your riddle solving abilities why shouldn't I ask you another one?' She said, taking up the challenge.

'Even better! Why don't I ask you a riddle?' Sherlock exclaimed before she had a chance to speak.

'What?' She asked confused, and for a second her voice sounded human again.

'Yes.' Sherlock continued, gaining more confidence with every word he spoke. 'I ask you a riddle, and when you solve it, you can kill me, I won't protest.' he explained

She showed her teeth, or rather, fangs, and took another step in his direction.

'You can even kill him if you like.' Sherlock said casually as he waved to Dean who was slowly regaining his senses.

That stopped her. Her eyes glittered dangerously.

'Begin.' She hissed.

Sherlock's mind was making over hours. He had one shot, he needed to think carefully about this one. What riddle would a Sphinx not know?Unless, of course, he didn't ask her a riddle.

'What happens when a person is drowning in the fountain of eternal life?' He blurted out, hoping that she would fall for his trick. At least for a few minutes so that Dean could get back on his feet.

Quickly the glimmer in her eyes vanished and was replaced in with confusion.

'Drowning... in the fountain of eternal life?' She repeated slowly.

'Yes yes, that's indeed the question.'

Of course, what he had just asked wasn't a riddle. It was a paradox. Sherlock hated paradoxes more than he hated riddles but Mycroft seemed to be fond of them, when they had been younger Mycroft had often annoyed him by asking him such paradoxes and them ridiculing him when he couldn't solve them.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean reaching for the gun that he had dropped...

'I know every riddle that was, is, and will be on this earth. But that, that is not one of them.' She growled.

Sherlock's eyes snapped back at her and his heart fell.

'It's not a riddle...' Her sneer widened and it almost seemed that she grew in size as her anger grew. The lights of outside were reflected in her eyes, her white teeth glinted brightly.

A door slammed open.

'DEAN!'

'SHERLOCK!'

Sam and John came rushing just as Dean got hold of his gun.

John immediately located Sherlock in the middle of the room, standing right in front of the sphinx. But he was alive and not ripped to bits. Now that he had confirmed that Sherlock was fine he turned his gaze to the Sphinx. He raised his gun, aimed, and pressed the trigger. It would all have ended right there, if his gun hadn't gotten jammed.

It would all have ended right there, if his gun hadn't gotten jammed.

'oh no.'

That was all John could think of, his gun never backfired. But now, by the hands of some unknown cruel god, his gun had backfired.

And although one of her opponents had lost his weapon, it was four to one, and the sphinx knew. Desperately she was trying to find the exit, but quickly she noticed that the only way out was through the door she had just entered. The door which unfortunately John and Sam were standing in front of. In a moment of desperation, she leapt at them. She managed to knock them over both, but this time, Sam was prepared, he had seen the solution in the corner of his eye.

'Get a hold of her!' He shouted to John as they both were thrown to the ground. And John without doubting for a second, he did. He let go of his gun and grabbed his attacker anywhere he could. Sam did the same. Now, the Sphinx roared as she noticed that she was held back. She tried to claw and snap her way to freedom, but the hunter and veteran wouldn't let go.

'John, to your left.' Sam managed to grunt through his gritted teeth, struggling to keep hold of the monster and fighting the pain of his torn open shoulder.

And John saw it, it was a big, sharp shard of glass. Just laying there, reflecting the moonlight. With one hand he reached out and the sharp edges bit deep in his hand, but he didn't mind. He didn't mind at all. With all the force possessed he trusted the clear shard of glass deep in the side of her throat.

The sound of somebody dying because he drowning in his own blood was the worst sound John had ever heard, but he had heard it many times before this night. Actually, the only one present in the room who hadn't heard that horrible sound was Sherlock, but Sherlock wasn't one to be shocked quickly. Otherwise he wouldn't be beating corpses with a whip in his free time.

But still, the sound of the sphinx trying to clear her lungs from her own blood wasn't something the four of them were fond to remember. Neither did Sam or John gladly think back at the moment they got sprayed int the blood she had managed to cough out.

Her whole body was shaking as she fell to the side, coughing, wheezing, gasping for air. But it was to no avail. With a last gurgled breath she went limp and silence returned to the factory hall.

The four of could only stare at the body of the beast when it slowly disintegrated into a pile of sand. Dean let out a relieved sigh as he let himself fall back on the ground and Sherlock was waiting for the moment he would awake from this absurd dream.

'LONDON POLICE, NOBODY MOVE.'

The four of them looked at the door through which a pair of people came running through. John's eyes grew wide in surprise as he recognised him. Because there stood no other than Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes, both holding a gun. Something Sherlock had never seen his brother do in the last few years.

'Shit.' Dean cursed from his corner of the room.

'We can explain!' Sam shouted, already raising his hands.

'What the in the bloody...' Lestrade asked as soon as he noticed John and some stranger at his feet, both in torn up clothes and bleeding.

'uhh...' John said, looking at Sam for help.

'Mycroft.'

All eyes turned towards the man in the trenchcoat. Sherlocks voice was low, angry and deadly. His shoulders were hunched and he looked like he would gladly take the shard out of the pile of sand and stick it in Mycroft's throat instead.

'What the hell did you do?' Sherlock growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, A few of you may be a bit confused by Sherlock's sudden anger at his innocent brother at the end. But I just imagined that Sherlock, not knowing what he had just seen, would love to place the blame of the unexplainable on his brother. You know, that's the easy way. Not accepting that what he had just seen was indeed the truth but had been just some stupid experiment his big brother had designed.
> 
> Anyhow, how will Mycroft explain himself, and how will the two brothers explain themselves? Well, we will find out in the last chapter of course. So see you guys then! In the mean time, please throw this filthy review begger a bone and leave your opinion in the little box below, and for the new readers, why not click on the follow and fave button, ay?
> 
> Nah, just kidding! (imnotkidding)
> 
> Have a nice day/evening/whatever depending on where you are an till next time!
> 
> Peace out and Party on xxx


	21. It can't be the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally here guys, after nearly a year of writing on my part and patience on your part. We've finally reached the end.
> 
> Enjoy.

Lestrade didn't know what to think about the situation. This whole night had been a mess. First, Sherlock had called him, losing his wits about two serial killers who hadn't been even alive. Then, after for some reason he had decided to trust the consulting detective and aid him in his search for the two dead criminals, Mycroft had shown up. Mycroft, of all people. The older Holmes who liked to play in the shadows, pulling the strings while Sherlock enjoyed the spotlights. If you thought Sherlock meant trouble, then you hadn't had to deal with Mycroft.

The older Holmes brother kindly asked him to refrain from answering Sherlock's plea for help, and after he had seen Lestrade hesitate, he had simply ordered it. Lestrade, being one of the few people that were aware that Mycroft didn't have "just a job with involving the government" had no choice but to comply. He had dismissed Donovan, who had sent him a confused look but didn't argue.

As soon as Donovan had disappeared Mycroft started to speak, his half smile melted right of his face and was replaced with a slightly worried look. Meaning, knowing the Holmes, that he was sick with worry and fear.

'Is your weapon fully loaded, detective?' Mycroft asked as he turned back to his car.

Lestrade frowned.

'It rarely isn't.'

'Excellent, let's hope it's still fully loaded by the end of the night.' Mycroft had almost whispered, and he had invited Lestrade to join him in the car.

It had been quite a ride. Lestrade didn't really know if the chauffeur had been a really good driver, or a really bad one. They sped through the streets, ignoring every speed limit as they waved trough the traffic. However, some crazy odds caused every streetlight to be green for their favour. But, thinking about it, it probably wasn't luck that had caused that.

Silent Lestrade's unlikely companion had pulled out his gun from some hidden compartment and loaded it, carefully inspecting every bullet, looking for flaws and imperfections, before he slid them in the barrel of the gun. It was when then that Lestrade realised something, something that he would never think about again but had struck him as odd that moment. Because the bullets Mycroft had been loading in his gun hadn't been ordinary bullets, the bullets had been made of pure silver.

After Mycroft had put his gun away again Lestrade had started to get annoyed. Mycroft was even worse than Sherlock. At least the younger brother would hint at what he was about to do, like some twisted game of sorts the younger Holmes laid out hidden clues as to what his plan was, clues Lestrade had only managed to solve once, but nonetheless, the clues had been there. With Mycroft, it was different. Mycroft didn't feel the need to prove his superiority anymore, at least, not to somebody as simple like Lestrade himself. No, Mycroft was silent and seemed quite comfortable not telling the detective in the car a thing about what they were about to do.

Lestrade crossed arms and leant back in his seat.

'You know, I always wonder with you Holmes, you always have to make it so darn difficult. If you are so worried about that brother of yours, why not let me bring back the back he wanted?' Lestrade wondered out loud.

Mycroft didn't react, didn't' look at him. Lestrade started to wonder if he had even heard him at all, but then started to speak. His voice was soft and what Lestrade mistook as annoyance, was actually angst.

'This is no case for the police, this is no case for us two, let alone somebody for somebody as labile as Sherlock.'

Lestrade had shaken his head. You only waste your time if you try to make sense of the Holmes brothers.

Finally, they arrived at their destination. It was some kind of deserted factory that Lestrade had vaguely recognised. They weren't alone. As their car sped through the open gates Lestrade could see a few black vans scattered around.

Mycroft had practically jumped out of the car in a hurry and immediately a man in squad gear had rushed to him.

'Sir!' He had shouted. 'There has been another gunshot, this time, located in the middle of the building. Only thirty seconds ago, sir.'

Mycroft had walked straight passed him and with a stiff motion had ordered Lestrade and the man in black to follow him.

'Repeat the orders.' Mycroft had barked while staring straight ahead. It was only when the other man started talking that Lestrade realised Mycroft hadn't been talking to him.

'Sir, after the you enter we wait for 6 minutes and 10 seconds. If we haven't gotten the signal by then, we will enter, locate, and execute. If before the time is over we receive the signal, we shall dispatch.'

Mycroft curtly nodded and before Lestrade had figured out what was happening they were already inside the building.

'Come, follow me and keep you gun ready. Shoot anything that isn't human' Before Lestrade could ask him what that last statement meant he was already gone, the detective had to hurry if he didn't want to lose him.

Together they quickly made their way through the building and Lestrade became determent. He didn't know what was going on, He didn't know why Mycroft was so worried and he didn't know what was awaiting him, but he sure as hell knew that he was ready for it.

It was not long after that Mycroft had led him to the door of the factory hall that he had been wrong. The first thing he noticed was Sherlock, standing in the middle of the room looking pale, almost grey. It was like he had just witnessed a murder, only, murders don't shock somebody like Sherlock anymore. Before Lestrade could start to think about what Sherlock must've seen to make him so shocked, he heard a voice from before his feet.

'We can explain!'

Lestrade's eyes widened as he John and a stranger laying on the filthy ground. Their clothes had been torn and almost ripped to shreds, it actually looked like they had fought with a grizzly bear and barely managed to escape. Blood slowly coloring the remnants of their clothes red.

'What in the bloody...' He muttered as his eyes locked with that of the stranger, and somewhere int he back of his mind he got the vague feeling he had seen them before.

But that was when Sherlock started to speak again, boy if Lestrade had thought he had ever seen the consulting detective angry he had been mistaken. It looked like the only reason why Sherlock wasn't attacking his brother at the moment was that because John was laying in the way.

Lestrade glanced at Mycroft, who's attitude had completely changed again. His shoulders weren't tensed anymore and the worry had melted completely from his face, replaced with his unreadable half smile, A smile which fooled everybody, everybody except Sherlock.

'What the hell did you do?' Sherlock finished scowling.

Without hurry, Mycroft tucked his gun away, seemingly not at all impressed by his brother's murderous look.

'I think you are forgetting your etiquette little brother, you haven't introduced us yet.' Mycroft said, sounding like he was an amused parent talking to his child who had forgotten to say "thank you"

'Ah, seems I have to deal with that myself then.'

Mycroft extended a hand to the man that had been laying on the ground.

'Sam Winchester, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm terribly sorry for any trouble that my brother has caused you.'

Lestrade saw confusion and surprise flash across the bleedings man face, but after a few seconds of tense silence, he accepted Mycroft's extended hand and with the help of the older Holmes brother he was on his feet again. Meanwhile, Lestrade helped John get up. It was then, when he actually thought about what Mycroft had just said that something clicked. Winchester. This man was the guy Sherlock had warned him about earlier that evening.

'What in the bloody hell happened?' Lestrade asked John, who just helplessly shrugged in response.

'Sam, if you ever say "I'm Fine" you better make sure you actually are, or God help me I will kick your ass!' Another man emerged from the shadows. His clothes weren't in a horrible shape, but he showed clear signs of having been in a fight recently. Lestrade could see the early signs of bruises form on his throat, but the new guy didn't seem to be worried about those. No, the only thing on his mind seemed to be the man who was now standing next to Mycroft. Dean's eyes seemed to be blazing and the fact that he was carrying a gun in one of his hands didn't help him look any friendlier. Lestrade had difficulty deciding who looked more terrifying; Sherlock, who was still glaring at his own brother, or Dean, who was walking with big strides his brother.

Sam, however, didn't seem all that bothered.

'I'm Fine.' He said without blinking.

Even Sherlock took his eyes of Mycroft to stare at Sam, who was everything but fine.

'Okay, That's it!' Dean threw his hands in the air and if John hadn't stepped between the two brothers Lestrade was pretty sure that Dean would've made his threat reality.

'It seems that we all need some time to take in all that has happened tonight.' Mycroft said sounding like he was the only one that actually knew what was going on, which of course, he was.

'Dean, give me your gun.' It wasn't hard to guess why Sherlock wanted a gun. The way he was scowling at Mycroft made it pretty clear what his intentions were.

'For the last time, I'm not giving you my gun!'

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About an hour later...

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Sherlock was eyeing up his brother. Now, seated in one of the more comfy armchairs in Mycroft's office, it looked like he was calmness itself. How wrong that was. Inside, he was still burning. But it wasn't like the raging fire of anger he had felt in the factory, no, it was more similar to a smouldering lake of lava, on the surface it looked calm yet it was even more deadly and more fierce than any other fire.

After all parties had calmed somewhat, Mycroft had convinced everybody to join him at the Diogenes club. But before they followed the oldest Winchester had insisted that Mycroft cut himself with a silver knife and drink from a flask he had brought. Without even asking questions, without blinking, he did as the Winchester commanded. It only added to the mystery. If it had been any other than Mycroft, Sherlock would've been excited, thrilled even. What had happened tonight was an extraordinary mystery, a mystery that had never seen it's like before. But, Mycroft was involved, and Mycroft was maybe the only living person on earth who could keep secrets from him. At least, for a limited amount of time...

Lestrade hadn't joined them. He had excused himself saying that if nobody was in life-threatening danger, he didn't really wanted to be a part of anything both Holmes brothers were involved in. When he had left, Sherlock could swear that he heard him muttering something about dissapearing vans and needing a very big drink.

John, Sam, and Dean were at the moment in a room adjacent to where Sherlock and Mycroft were in. John had offered properly take care of Sam's injuries and Dean followed his younger brother like a bear protecting it's cub, never leaving it out of sight.

But those three weren't Sherlock's main concern right now. Now that he had assured himself that John was indeed fine and hadn't sustained any major injuries, the only thing that mattered was figuring out the truth. Mycroft seemed like a good place to start. His brother was seated across of him, legs crossed over each other and his hands clasped together in front of his chest while his elbows rested on his legs. He had an amused glint in his eyes, but that didn't fool Sherlock. He could see curiosity, fear and worry all at once. Sherlock didn't care about what Mycroft was feeling, the only use Mycroft's emotions were to him is that he could use those to pry even more answers out of his older brother.

It was time to begin.

Mimicking his brother's position, Sherlock made himself comfortable in the chair and he let out a long breath of air. His face was blank but deep down he knew he couldn't fool Mycroft, nobody could.

'What happened tonight?'

Mycroft raised a bemused eyebrow in response.

'Too broad little brother, you need to be more specific than that if you ever want to figure this out.'

Sherlock's emotionless look vanished and was replaced by a glare.

'Fine, if you want to play games, then play games we shall.'

'Oh, but my dear Sherlock. This is not a game. It's an art, a craft. A mystery, I wouldn't want to rob you of the pleasure of figuring it out your own.'

'You're a terrible liar.'

'Am I? Then why haven't you solved the mystery yet?' Mycroft shot back without hesitating.

'What happened tonight?' Sherlock repeated unblinking.

'Too broad.'

Silence.

Sherlock cocked his head to the other side, his hands now high enough to cover his lips as he thought about his next question. There were a thousand question Sherlock wanted to ask, what would be his first? If he wanted the truth from Mycroft, he first had to prove that Mycroft indeed knew what was going on. That were the rules of their little game. He first had to pin him down. He decided on his first question.

'Why did you cut yourself with the Winchesters knife?'

It was a perfect first question, Mycroft couldn't deny that he had cut himself with the knife.

'Because he asked.'

'Why did you comply?'

'Because otherwise there would be no way they would've agreed to come.'

That was interesting. That answer revealed two things to Sherlock. Mycroft had just admitted knowing about the Winchesters, and in such degrees that he knew what he needed to do to persuade the two. Interesting indeed. For a second Sherlock considered asking about the Winchester, but he realised he actually hadn't solved anything yet. Why would Dean want Mycroft to cut himself with a knife, how would that proof to him that Mycroft was trustworthy.

'Why did Dean ask you to cut yourself?'

'Ah, yes, good question indeed. Why would he do that?'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

'That's the question.'

Suddenly, Mycroft's attitude changed slightly. His everlasting half smile was replaced with a more irritated look.

'Think, Sherlock. You aren't a child anymore. What are the facts? What have you seen?'

Sherlock held his breath for a moment. He realised then that Mycroft wouldn't give him the answers that he desired that easy, no, he had to work for them first. The silence lasted for another second, and then Sherlock started.

'Dean Winchester carries many knives on his person, he has a collapsible one in the left pocket of his jacket. That one is easier to reach, but he didn't give you that one, instead he wasted time and energy to give a specific knife, a knife he kept safely hidden in the pockets inside his jacket. It was not a new knife but not a terribly old knife. Atop of that, the knife wasn't made of ordinary materials. It was a silver knife.'

'Exactly.' Mycroft said. 'But those weren't the only things you saw.'

Immediately, Sherlock continued. 'No, he also insisted you drink from his flask. But, the flask wasn't really interesting, and what I judged from your expression, it hadn't anything foul or pleasant tasting in it. The most obvious choice would be water then.'

'Not just water, little brother, from what I know about the Winchesters I can safely assure you that what the oldest one gave me was Holy water.'

'So, Dean wanted you to cut yourself with a silver knife and drink holy water.' Sherlock concluded, not quite sure how these facts would help him find answers.

'Holy water, silver, doesn't that ring a bell brother? If not, you may consider retiring because you are getting sloppy.' Mycroft said taunting

Sherlock shot him an annoyed look. 'Silver, holy water, unless they wanted to exorcise a demon I see no use of those things.' Sherlock scampered, ridiculing his brother.

Mycroft only cocked his head and remained silent, carefully observing his brother.

First, Sherlock narrowed his eyes, then they widened as revelation hit.

'No...'

He unclasped his hands and stood up from his chair. He didn't care that he broke his uncaring act and started pacing back and forth. He paid Mycroft no heed as suddenly, a theory started to form in his head. It was a ridiculous theory, he was even ashamed thinking about it. But when he tried to find another explanation, another theory that would clarify the things he saw. But nothing fit, nothing held up. It couldn't have been drugs, it couldn't have been some kind hallucination, it couldn't have been a panic attack.

This night, Sherlock had been attacked by an ancient creature; A Sphinx. The Sphinx had been living in London for sometime, tricking in people trying to solve her riddles and killing them. Only, one time, the Sphinx had picked somebody who had been friends with the Winchesters. Sam and Dean, after not being able to contact their friend, had come down to London to investigate the disappearance. So, after the Winchesters had managed to escape him in the alleyways, the had gone off and continued their research. They wanted revenge on whatever had killed their friend. Meaning that when they were actually solving the mystery, he himself had been left chasing shadows and red herrings, and while had been following death leads, he had become the Sphinx next target. John, God knows how, had managed to figure out what had been going on before Sherlock had, and had tried to find the Winchesters. And all of those facts had eventually lead to tonight, the night Sherlock had run into Dean had been attacked by the Sphinx. How did the Winchester know where to look? Simple, they had done this before. Many times in fact, the man at the airport had told him that. He hadn't been lying. Monsters were real.

It was a ridiculous, laughable theory. But, as Sherlock quickly began to realise, it was only plausible one.

'No...' He repeated softly. If that theory was true, if Sphinxes really did exist, what else was out there? Which myths were true? Were werewolves real? Vampires? Ghosts? Demons? Dwarves and Elves? It almost was an overload of information.

'It can't be the truth.' Sherlock breathed as he let himself sink in the chair again.

'Yet, it is.' Mycroft's voice was different, softer, kinder, Sherlock even thought he could detect a hint of pity.

'You knew.' Sherlock said as he looked at Mycroft with eyes void of emotion. It hadn't been a question.

'I can't afford not to know.'

'How did John know?'

'He figured it by himself actually, only came to me to confirm his suspicion.' Mycroft didn't see why he would try and hid the truth.

'How? How could he have known?' Sherlock held his hands through his face.

'It's his sister. She seemed to have taken the same profession as the Winchester brothers.'

'It's a profession now? Hunting leprechauns?' Sherlock scampered.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

'If it weren't for the Winchesters, you wouldn't be alive.' Mycroft said slowly, making sure that Sherlock would get every word he said.

For some time, Sherlock didn't answer, lost in his thoughts, thinking about everything that had happened the last few days. Days, it had only been days. It felt like weeks, months, years had passed since the first time he had seen the mangled corpse outside the abandoned factory, wondering what had killed him. Then he thought about the Winchesters, how Dean, despite his grudge against him, had tried to shield him from the beast, knowing very well that he could do little more against it then Sherlock could've. He thought about Sam, how the younger brother had held the beast in place, despite being severely wounded, while John had buried the glass shard deep in its neck.

Sherlock took a breath and looked outside the window, within only a few hours, the sun would rise; A new day would begin, a new day with a new reality.

'I suppose you're right.' Sherlock whispered so soft that Mycroft almost missed it.

And so together, they sat for a long while. Sherlock, wondering about what he actually knew about the world, and Mycroft, wondering how ever he could keep his younger brother safe from the monsters in the dark.

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A few days later

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It was late in the afternoon when the four of them walked to the airport. It had been a few days since the incident in the factory but it seemed like months. Despite John's best efforts Sam's wound had gotten infected and they had to wait for several days before he was deemed fit to travel. Mycroft had graciously offered for the two brothers to stay in the private quarter of the Diogenes club, where their every move would be monitored 24 hours a day, but of course, they wouldn't know that. After Mycroft had taken the two brothers aside and explained a few things, they agreed, albeit a bit reluctantly

Sherlock took full advantage of the situation. After the first shock had died down, curiosity began to grow rapidly. He would be damned before he went to Mycroft again for his answers, and besides that, he very much suspected that his brother only knew the theory. No, the brothers held all the answers he needed.

But getting them had proved a bit of challenge. He quickly became to realise that despite their adventure in the factory, Dean still wasn't too fond of him. And although it proved a rather funny and amusing activity bantering with the older brother and seeing which buttons he needed to push before Dean ordered him to leave the room, it also proved to be a rather fruitless activity, and to be honest. Dean's tongue proved to be sharper than Sherlock had anticipated and the Winchester quickly learned how to set off Sherlock himself, who often found him leaving the conversation while gritting his teeth and cursing Dean's name.

So his other option was the younger brother, but alas, for the first day, he spent almost the whole first day sleeping off his affection and his brother was never far away, ready to butt heads with Sherlock. As time progressed, the consulting detective started to suspect that Dean was enjoying trying to provoke Sherlock.

But after the first day, Sam seemed to do a lot better. Sherlock managed to get into his room under the guise that he wanted to apologise for that what happened in the alleys. Dean, however, followed him inside. Naturally, the two of them started to quarrel. Sam, still tired, quickly became fed up with the two. As Sherlock had predicted, Sam lashed out against his brother instead of him. Sherlock had come to apologise, after all. After a short but heated argument, Dean left the room, muttering a large array of curses on his breath. But he left, and that was all that what mattered. Now, Sherlock could ask all the questions he wanted.

And that he did, Sam had a little difficulty keeping up with Sherlock's pace but try to answer the questions as best as he could. He even showed his father diary to the man, a book that greatly interested the consulting detective. At first, Sam had been a bit hesitant while answering, but he quickly had realised that Sherlock wouldn't back down.

Dean, after leaving the room, had bumped into John. Dean had been grateful for the doctor to patch up his little brother, and John had a few questions of his own, so it wasn't before too long that the two of them found themselves with a bottle of whisky in one of the richly decorated rooms of the club, talking about everything and nothing. As the alcohol started to loosen their tongues they started to exchange more personal stories, and soon they realised that they had more in common than either of them had thought possible.

In the other room, Sherlock had started telling Sam about the basic facts of deducting and Sam's admiration grew. Sherlock noticed that although his brother had the sharper tongue, Sam possessed the sharper wit of the two. Sam soaked up all that he told him. Sherlock decided that he liked Sam better than he liked Dean.

So it was that when the time had come for the brother to return to the US. Sherlock and John had decided to join them on their walk to the airport. And it was lie if Sherlock said he didn't feel a little bit smug when he noticed that Dean had become more nervous when they came closer to the airport, afraid of flights then.

The four of them halted in front of the airport, around them the crowd flowed in the airport and paid little heed to them.

Dean hoisted his bag on his shoulder.

'Well, guess this is it then.' He said as he turned to John.

John smiled.

'It was a pleasure meeting you.' and the two of them gave it's other a handshake only soldiers can give.

'Don't get in trouble.' John added.

'I don't make promises I can't keep.' Dean grinned.

'I highly doubt that, to be honest.' Sherlock said casually, and as in afterthought he added.

'And can I have my gun back?'

Dean's grin even grew broader and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes.

'No.'

'You can't possibly think you can bring it with you, you have to go through several securities measure which each have 97% detection rate.'

'What? Dean, I thought you had disposed of it?' Sam interfered wide-eyed, but Dean ignored him.

'Watch me.' Dean said grinning as turned away from them and started making his way through the entrance.

'Wait, Dean!' Sam shouted sounding rather alarmed. As of last thought shortly smiled at the pair waiting for them.

'I'm sorry about the gun Sherlock, I'll make it up to you!' Sam said before he ran after his brother.

'Dean! I swear if...' The rest of the sentence was lost in the murmur of the crowd. John and Sherlock silently watched as the two brothers disappeared in the mass of people, Dean grinning and Sam waving his arms like a mad man. They didn't look any different than the other people in the mob of humans, but John and Sherlock knew better.

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The two friends walked in comfortable silence back to their home. Both of them lost in thought. John was thinking about his sister. He had learned a lot of things from Dean, and they didn't bode well for Harry. He would make sure to call him as soon as they got home, they had a lot of things to catch up. But his sister wasn't the only thing on his mind.

'So, what are going to do?' John asked while curiously watching his friend.

'Isn't that obvious, my dear Watson? I'm going to do what I'm best at. Solving murders.' Sherlock answered with a half smile.

John squinted.

'You're going to hunt now? Is that what you mean?'

Sherlock looked at him.

'What? No, I'm not going to "hunt". I solve murders. That's what I do.'

'You mean, this doesn't change anything for you?' John wondered out loud, quite surprised actually.

'Now you're just being foolish John, of course, it changes things a bit. Everything changes things a bit. This revelation has opened a lot more possibilities, a lot more explanations. But to solely focus on only supernatural cases would seem quite boring. What I have gathered from Sam is that most Supernatural creatures work in a certain order, you only have to find the pattern and you already have the suspect. Childs play, but with humans; That's a different story. Humans act on emotions, are irrational, don't make sense to the casual observer. Trying to figure out the human mind is a lot more challenging than just simply looking at the whatever creature fits the description of the murder.' Sherlock explained.

John was silent as he thought about what Sherlock had said. To be honest, he should've known. Sherlock wasn't a crime fighter, he didn't see himself as the hero that needed to save the world. He solved crimes, murders, mysteries. Sherlock didn't feel the need to kill off every monster that goes bump in the night, he rather longed to expose them. But nonetheless, it wasn't an answer John had expected.

Meanwhile, they had arrived home. While Sherlock started to speak again he unlocked the door and went inside

'Now, I'm sure there are enough people to deal with the supernatural, but a competent police force this city seems to lack. That reminds me, I got an e-mail from some woman in the northern part of the city. Her daughter was found death yesterday evening and her eyes were completely burned out of her sockets! She isn't the first by the way! She was is the fourth to be found the way she is. I suspect a new sadistic serial killer who...'

John wasn't listening anymore. Sherlock could ramble for hours if he found a case that had piqued his interest. It seemed that indeed, despite all the things that happened the last few days, life would continue like normal for them. Well, as normal as life could be when living with Sherlock Holmes.

While Sherlock packed his things, John absently scratched the new tattoo on his chest, a pentagram encircled in flames...

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a wonderful ride! It's finished, done, over! Right after I have updated I will change this story status to 'complete.' Who would've thought, could've thought this story became as popular as it did!
> 
> For the last time, I want to thank everybody who invested his time in this story. Without you guys, I really doubt I would've finished this piece.
> 
> Originally, I wanted to include a list of everybody has reviewed this story, but it would simply be too long. So, believe me, when I say thank you for a last time.
> 
> I will stick around and work on this story sometime, you know, re-reading the chapters and try to eliminate the stray mistakes, but there won't be any major changes. (Changing death to dead and vise versa, and changing Backerstreet to Bakerstreet :P )
> 
> If you have any questions, have discovered any plotholes I forgot about, feel free to PM me/review and I will gladly explain!
> 
> Thank you for your support, kind words, your input, and for the time you took to read this story (Yes, even thanks to the lurkers!). It means a lot.
> 
> Thank you, and of course; Peace out and party on xxx


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